heaven's gem

did not come with advertisement, or a pr department to smooth things over. did not eat the cake, then complain it wasn't that good. hands still sticky with cream, face covered in a mess - someone bring a towel! with maidens, serfs bowing obsequiously fear locked inside, the master likes his toys happy. am i not a fair just one? of course you are - they answered with gusto! fat slob wriggles towards a palace of many mirrors, each on showing him in the best possible light, farts, dang that felt good. pious monks wearing goudy robes, lifting incense to the air - hear, hear they chanted to the wind, take these offerings and give a miracle! miracle workers performed, a golden calf gets beheaded - see, see and humbly knelt before starry eyed audience, the supernatural occurred, must be a sign from heaven, the crowd whispered. who else can perform such acts? plastic faces, mechanical hands, hearts following the scent - of wonders, another thrill, another golden calf even better. like magic, like what money cannot buy, a touch from heaven. more is better, is it not? golden calves thrashing within locked, hearts stone like: plastic smiles, genuine nods, how's your day? only goes so far, before anything less than weather becomes too much - not atlas. sorry no can do. weathered faces, smiling still, in lust heaven on earth: the wind takes up fat calves released from dens unlocked, spring throughout green merry fields, with flowers cheering on - go spread my seed. fairy dust covers, fairy dust covers the mind, a warm blanket comforting: feels so real, a cozy fire in a winter storm. aye, aye, the crew replied to their captain - this one is going to hurt, then plundered innocence, stole the white sheep right before a shepherd looking away. this one's fresh! innocence turned inside out, if hesitates, another sheep down, falters, another, and solidly locks hands with the captain, joined the crew, aye, aye captain and slew the next. a weary shepherd tending sheep not listening, as wolves prowl, foxes slinker away with gleaming eyes calculating. soon. soon. as one panicky sheep darts out, and the shepherd's trail is narrow, thin, sometimes one can barely make out the road. when footprints, dirt, calls sound - what is it like? to be where the party is at. you know, those long nights that never end, the wines they rotate, drunkard states do not set in, just pure merriment, a fuzz, a stupor, an idiotic grin. got another? the trudging, the dogmatic, the painstaking effort to keep up with a north star, a silhouette just yonder, sitting, waiting patiently: to follow even when obvious paths are clearly seen of what looks to be euphoria - but the jungle is deep, hearts deeper. can you see? north star falling down, a shooting star, make a wish: wish, wish for a shepherd's footstep, steadily growing strong, louder till the star begins to burn, and earth's mirage falters, stands still, halts. hanging on for dear life, swept by a typhoon, hands clutching to a shepherd's robe.