Thursday, 16 February 2017

The Grin Wreaker

Secret smiling in his shadow land
Master Craftsman of confusion
Scanning plans of doom impending
Evaporates ones snug illusion

He is the riddance of the self-assured
In perfect plans the unknown void
The tactless step of foot in mouth
A dab-hand trade in Schadenfreude

Brings unplanned rain on sunny days
Supplies wet blankets for good causes
Spills your jugs and topples mugs
Fills the room with pregnant pauses

Makes you late for that essential date
Sucks colour out of pallid cheeks
Puts the grind on bringing things to mind
Casting doubt on sound techniques

Below the hidden scheme of things
Will spread annoyance in the crowd
Turns a tune of crackling microphones
Into a mass of ‘laugh out loud’

Wreaker’s favourite sport duplicity
On shoulders perching always near
To whisper doubt about your progress
Even though the coast is clear

Behind a door where no one’s there
Slowing down the shortest queue
A driver in that speeding car
Who muddy drenched all over you

Trips you up when nothing’s in your way
Drains your mind with memory lapses
Rearranging books you stored away
Upon a shelf which then collapses 

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