Blog · Fiction

The Silent Bastard

He sits there silent and pensive

Never answering, always elusive

You ask the bastard a question

In return – the utmost indiscretion

On occasion you are met with absolute mute

When you ask again he grins and calls you cute

There he sits the silent bastard

The art of hush, he has mastered

A cry for help goes unanswered

He looks down on you. You are below his standards

Then again you hear a laugh

A jaunty snigger on your silly behalf

Trying to look desirable to you

Yet when you want him, he tells you to shoo

There he sits the silent bastard

The art of calm, he has mastered

He sits and judges on his mighty pedestal

Ever-present, Ever-Silent and Ever-skeptical

He runs his fingers through his hair

The silent bastard is here. No need to fret or despair.

He renders himself a sacred cow

We cannot offend him. We need only bow

There he sits the silent bastard

The art of calm, he has mastered

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