You Can Be My Metaphor

You Can Be My Metaphor
my metaphor will find me
lonely, stooped in my
alcove room.
How can I know for sure
this is my metaphor,
expressly fit to guide
my destiny?
Will the hand of fate
grab my metaphoric testicles
send waves of salty rippling
across my skin?
Will I awake to a world in which
I win, consistently
(no painful taxation of tragedy)?
Dear Metaphor,
Please be good to me.
Clear eyes I can depend upon,
not a judge;
strong arms made of hugs.
Weave your wyrd wizard’s spell
Focus my mind.
Release valkyries’
raw cacophony,
glorious song.
Someday my metaphor
swoops in on shaman’s wings
scoops me up
takes me along.

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