Mark Heathcote (22/03/66 / Manchester)
A beggar’s bowl bonanza
This life has a victim and a killer
This life has a preacher and a sinner
This life has a poem a four line stanza
This life has a beggar’s bowl bonanza
That can either really cleanse you
Or poison your soul.
This life has a dark angel
And a desolate windmill…
Where you both grind
Both day and night!
At opposite ends of the stratosphere
To join wings, in a moment of flight.
This life has a woman giving birth
Claiming this divinity of life is a living hell
Whilst the father beams ear to ear
Holding a stranger near
Who is now dearer than her?
…As if that could ever be.
This life is like a cheap bottle of wine
You want to make ambrosia.
Your very own Nirvana in rapture
But this life has you in a mild despair maligned
I swear, I swear, I swear, this life
It’ll have you going mad I do declare.
But this life has the bare bones
Of a mercurial magic; I swear
I do swear, I swear
When you find a young woman
And like a highwayman you have your way
With her jewels, when she offers her heart the very next day.
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