http://www.davidelliottwriter.com/

It’s payday at the Gulag… There are smiles raining down.

The dealers here, peddling dreams. Anticipation is all the sound.

It’s chaos until midnight. When Cinderella hears a moan.

She was in the Masters dark room, where she thought they were alone.

It’s over like it started. Alarm clocks ring at dawn.

We move like it’s all over… It’s just the money that’s all gone.

She had a voice like mother… with a low sweet cadence drawl.

The kind that makes one shudder like a noose before the fall.

I searched for strength to hold back. I didn’t know how or what.

She caught me in that moment where I tried and failed to shut.

I wasn’t sure her motive, however I felt that it was planned.

I lost my will to say goodbye and then I lost my will to stand.

I left things as they started, all bright eyed and confused.

I left alone with my life more black and blue than bruised.

Wicked Wanda’s telling stories and none of them are true.

She has her Heroes riled up and they’re coming for me and you.

Now I can’t say I’m worried because I’ve dealt with this before.

You see I knew her older sister and her Mother I adore.

But for you I’d make provisions, set affairs and say goodbyes.

When Wanda’s on the war path, there’s no running from those lies.

The yellow bus is shaking, the steps are worn down.

The actors dreams forsaking, all except our featured clown.

There’s a a sadness to his armor and a stiffness to his smile.

He is on the yellow bus now and will be for a while.

Under makeup there’s a human; who wonders, ‘Who am I?’

No one gives an answer and the bus just drives on by.

It’s a long road if we’re lucky and a short one if we’re not.

The clown is in his mind now, where all battles now are fought.

For years, I’ve been promoting Rule # 2 as ‘Never shit in your own nest’ and never clearly have stated ‘Rule number 1’…

‘Anything you have that you prioritize making money over you lose… ‘

It is s a lofty title, competitions an all time high.

The Chaos Queen is crowned tonight at the corner of high and dry.

My horse is in the running. No shackles are on her toes.

She will lead from wire to wire, and then lose it by a nose.

She will claim a great injustice, policemen will be called.

The crowd will be disjointed with most feelings left appalled.

The winner will be all smiles with a twinkle in her eyes.

The Chaos Queen will wear her crown made to fit most any size.

She’s been quiet in the suburbs; walks a dog on cul-de-sac.

She’s getting wise on wine and proverbs; and she’s not coming back.

There’s a smile on my face now; I’m afraid its here to stay.

The cul-de-sac goes round and round; so quiet far away.

I fear if God is watching then he must be plenty bored.

Not much new is going on, still driving that old Ford.

The bums are still out hangin and the drunks are down and out.

The lovers have all gone inside and the agnostics have their doubt.

The investors lost their money and the leaves are turning brown.

The church it seems so empty and that sun is going down.

There is color in the flowers.

And moisture in the rain.

The rocks are hard and heavy.

And the soil holds all pain.

I’ve been dancing in the meadows.

I don’t dare to stay too long.

And only under darkened skies.

Where the thunder plays my song.

No more confab with the foolish.

Or the prideful, boastful voice.

I take it to the world at large.

And pretend I have a choice.

Sometimes, I miss delusions.

In the busy city streets.

And the chaos and confusions.

But not the phones and texts and tweets.