Treasures in my Attic [sonnet +1]
There are treasures in my attic which, if known
would lead to my arrest and then detention
for the crime of spitting diamonds out alone
and in the dark (a quirk of this dimension).
“All the words you’ve ever said will now be used
against you”, said the midget-souled policeman
on his beat — whereby he verbally abused
my precious dreams (but misconstrued my gameplan).
However, if they put me in their prison,
I will revel in the honour, showing all
my fellow inmates how to sing with vision
(for those walls of stone will not restrict my scrawl!).
Just then his truncheon cracked into my jewels.
I smiled, glad to escape this house of fools.
.
.
© Alan Morrison, 2016
The Naked Troubadour 