As a man out of place, who doesn’t know what to do with his time
I seem no longer to be able to express myself unless it’s in rhyme
I’d like to sit with you in a bistro scented with oregano and thyme
We could discuss Aryuna’s guilt because of that Pandava crime
If I could only sip with you a Chianti or some other fine wine
I’d tell you your first name in Hebrew means “discernment of the divine”
And that your last name is in common with a favorite superhero of mine
I won’t be able to tell you that everything is fine
But I’ll hold back the tears, and I’ll try not to whine
If I don’t have to hear about the patriarchy
I won’t bitch about the matriarchy
I’ll tell you of the days of the Judean tetrarchy
When a king spoke words that would later overtake me
That is, if I can rescue myself from the power of your beauty
To hear of your cares I would declare as my duty
The ear of a philosopher of communication
Is a precious thing to a nutjob whose business is salvation
Of the precious human soul and far off holy nation
But whose mind has been victim to infernal desecration
If I could only get a date
I’d come bearing gifts and would in no wise be late
I’m not asking for more than some time with a friend
You never know; it could lead to connection without end
I need friends.
Barry Allen