Sour Grapes

Sour grapes is what I think of you.

The Milky Way runs away from you too.

My vibes are saturated with your anger.

My karma thrown away, trash in the next town.

Sheer luck the mirror reflects your image, green with envy as you are.

I'm scared of you, and your flame.

Huddled in a corner as you burn down my fort of imagination

You're green like the tree frog, jealous of my make-believe world.

In it I'm the queen, and you sheer peasant.

But as you charge my castle, on no foot, but hoof, your black steed taken over by rage, breaks down my tissue thin wall of hope.

Hope is what you lack most.

You grasp the present, not with a red ribbon, but time

As now becomes yesterday, tomorrow is still future.

But when time stands still, midnight is metamorphosis, becoming today.

Today you are powerful, but the power is evil.

No power indeed should belong to you.

You view my heart, but my soul is foreshadowed.

You burn me, but to no avail, it is still hidden.

Hidden away from you, so you can't steal my hopes and dreams.

Yes, you may need them, but take them from someone else.

Leave me be in my charred castle.

In my throne of sharp silk.

With my crown of barbed wire

Sour grapes is what I think of you.

And when the vineyard becomes dried, and raisins are all that's left, I will whisper sweet nothings into your heart, and ease your mind, leaving you without greed and hate.

Envy sucked through a straw by God.

Anger lifted from your shoulders.

And only then will sour grapes become sweet wine.