There is No...

There are no clouds on which to float, 
no paddles on shit creek, nor no boat. 
There is no wind to drive the mills. 
There is no cure for all those ills. 

A weather-beaten stoic stone statue stood, 
pelted by the elements, his face a concrete frown. 
Eroded fingertips felt no more, 
and his eyes ground down by foul tempests.

There is no sunlight, night is all. 
There is no cushion from the fall. 
There shall be no ‘happily ever after’, 
even in joy, you cry with laughter. 

The statue’s veins pumped not with blood
but fragmented mineral misery. 
And no heart within concealed to beat
but only lumpen tragedy. 

Half empty, or half full - there shall be thirst. 
No floating spheres, for bubbles burst. 
There is no now, nor any while. 
An eternal frown partners fleeting smile. 

What bovine excrement led to legends of old
for which this statue was erected?
Nothing but the product of a splintering carnal union 
between two wooden fuck ups. 

There is no joy that isn’t sorrow for some. 
There is no paradise, nor Kingdom Come. 
And with each laborious, sorry breath
We should remember
There is no life, that is not death.