Stray

A sparkling of the green machine,

a dollar do I have.

My coinage is in my hand

and adage of a dream.

The diamond is a sharpening

to cut the natural gem.

No stone is left unturned

the cutting glass

is hear at last,

my ears ringing FEM.

Coughing, sputtering,

a shard of citrine.

A golden band

is playing,

in this very dark land.

The sunlight hit,

the diamond tip,

with laser like display.

Of nothing more,

than the sore,

sitting in adorn.

Shifting wit,

the card doth flip,

precision in the draw.

Digging deep,

inside the keep,

the dirt doth move away.

Caving sides,

of Gem time thighs

are mine so go a stray.

K.A.P.

5/4/2009