Poem: He Speaks In Riddles

Is there a pot of gold if I chase this rainbow?

Is there a golden egg if I participate in this wild goose chase?

He is the sandman

Sand sliding through my fingers and sticking to my toes

He slips away leaving me restless

Though this is groundless

His sediments will not detach themselves from me

Is he a fairy godfather or a genie?

Why has he presented me with a lamp full of seeds?

Is there a beanstalk where I can climb away from this giant?

He who has planted this disorientation will not water it

His crop rotation prefers annuals over perennials

His best vegetation rots over his malnourishment

His neglect deteriorates more than chemicals

Why doesn’t he just harvest me and send me off?

If I slice through the wolf’s belly, will I find my answers there? Is he really the woodsman or the Big Bad Wolf?

He blows away the straw and stick shelters, but I am a brick house

He is an artisan

An inconsiderate and precise crafter

He overuses his masterpiece hands which shouldn’t hold or create anything less

He puts me in a mold that I don’t fit in

His words or lack of them will not carve me hollow

How do I escape the riddling troll?

All the exits are burned bridges

The scapegoats preceded me

His name is the answer

But if I say it, I will fall

Because I will say three words before it

Only a sphinx would know what he thinks

However, since I can’t transform straw into gold

My destruction would also be its price

If I wish upon a star, will it grant my wish to another?

His is not Prince Charming

He is a composer

His work around me is frantic and mighty

Each note’s potential is waiting to be fulfilled

While the last beat, the last note, may be the end, it should be a glorious end to this melody

Write down this orchestra so that it may be replenished

Each measure may not be joyous

But it has been a pleasure and honor being in his symphony