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There comes a time, the walrus said,
in a different story.
And the words of the carpenter,
which lured away all the pretty oysters,
with descriptions of wonderful
things
to taste,
still
work.
And oysters merrily troop along,
singing as they go
all the way down some
long
dark
path
to their consumption.
So mark the words
the darkness calls,
tasty little morsel,
and don't go off to dinner,
unless you're sure
you're not the
starter.
lol........humma humma..........
Oh come to me
My Lovely oyster
Let me taste your liquor
The shell to open
A pearl to find
Trophy in the nacker
The flesh consumed
The prize taken
Swallowed whole with thoughtless abandon
The pearl's just grit upon the shelf,
a trophy soon forgotten.
The juice a smear
upon the lips.
And little oysters,
lost,
and had.
Of seed we start
To choker we go
I see the opera
In lengths we grow
the length is knotted,
one from one,
each
untouching.
'til tumbled,
in a drawer, aria sung,
come hard
regrets.
Silken threads
A string unbroken
Seek not the quality
When chains are tested
False knots unwind
Lay bare the wicked truth
You guys are too much. Thanks.
So listen well of sealing locks
and wax and bitter pain.
Young oysters, chains are permanent
be sure the fit is kind.
False knots destroy,
true steel will heal
the pleasure of your soul.
Oh look young oyster
To the hand that holds
Feel the heat an the pressure
You are loved, be sure.
Oh look young oyster
To the opposite hand
See the glint of destruction
Your doom in deft hands
Don't look at the platter
Your nothing but fodder
Opened on command
The shucker's first order
young and eager oysters
find the shucking very
hard.
Their pearl ripped free,
squandered.
Left to bleed joy and
wisdom
in the dark.
The acid bile of waiting
worries young oysters
far too much.
Far better to endure.
And open wide in offering
to one
who knows the worth of oysters, pearls and pain.
Who shucks the shell, not roughly,
so it closes safe,
again.
Little oysters can mature
and open many times.
Grow pearls of depth and beauty,
gracing any link.
But here's the trick...
to see the platter masked as
chain
and wait
without regret
Taste of me
The liquor of life
Sweet salted brine
From the oceans of my soul
Drunk from the shell
In creamy flesh
My heart still beats
Now alive in your breast
A gently opened shell
frees the oyster's
tender
soul,
and leads it to the heavens
to gambol with the stars.
The chains that bind
don't hinder,
nor chafe
nor cause
distress,
when the cherished morsel's
tasted
in a gourmet's
steady quest
to find the joy that lingers
in the salty,
restless
sea.
And tide and time
keep compn'y
with the beating of the hearts
that echo in the recess
between the
shining
stars.