Irrational

Mars is made of rubies
Blood is made of Mars.
The Earth, she rains with beauties,
The stages spin with stars.

My socks upon the tiles,
Slip my tongue beneath the dirt,
While it whispers secrets my ears can’t hear,
Of things I never learnt.

I found a forest full of raptors,
And the rafters full of trees,
And those birds of pray they blessed me,
When I gave a tongueless sneeze.

So while Newton holds my feet,
Oh so tightly to the ground
I will let the child, the fool, the poet,
Float my head above the clouds.