Jared's Dogger... er... free verse hour. If bad poetry hurts you skip the next bit.

The house of Well, if...

Sing me a song, little bird
of gilded cages and mazes and dungeons
Tell me a story, little bird
about why you still can sing
I'll sing you a song, little bird
from my own cage... at least I'll rattle a tune
I'll tell you a story, little bird
a story of my cage, the house of Well, if...

The house of Well, if... is full to the brim
Its residents are monsters, the whole lot
They all have their names and faces and voices
They gurgle and grumble and moan
Old Comfort rules with blubbery fist
Fear does his dirty-work with glee
Laxity languishes as first concubine
Still hordes of lesser terrors lurk
The house of Well, if... has many a door
Fear steps in to slam them shut
That is if Laxity lets you from her bed
long enough to find them
King Comfort's benign presence
sits on your shoulders throughout
like the monkey of proverb
sapping your hours

It is a cage, little bird
Let not its appearance deceive
Sing my story, little bird
But not before this warning I impart
In the house, little bird
Those other horrors so blithely mentioned
It is them, little bird
who would hear our song.

It's rough and it's silly but I'm getting at something here. I know, I know. It doesn't scan. My apologies to the lady everstar. I like the premise anyway and I think I'll try and hammer it in to something worth reading. Just thought I'd share. If you actually read this here's your cookie:

...

More later this evening.