MY MOON DOOR
Here in my Eyrie
several thousands feet above the valley,
the wind whispers loud
up in the clouds.
As men fly,
wail, weep and cry.
My fortress in times of distress
their misery brings me happiness
as I watch bodies float,
hysterically I gloat.
Wide enough to accommodate
your discrepancies, tolerate
all forms of stupidity and melancholy
warmly embrace all absurdity.
Scallywags, interlopers and whores
welcome to my moon door.
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