Tarragon

No more parties,
no more hoopla.
No super-fly,
including Supa-Dupa.

No more chitter-chatter
about things that don't matter.
The only thing I want to know
is why your thoughts scatter;

why don't you see
and why you don't look;
why you don't read,
not even your own book

or what you wrote,
even your own quote;

I want to know why
you don't even float your own boat:

While I sit here writing
and you prepare for fighting,
lighting the candle
to watch the flame flicker on the mantle.

But you don't pause to reflect
how your disrespect is retrospect,
not correct
as if you never see direct.

You're skewed and half-hearted,
broken down before you started:
While I have crackers in the barrel
down the road you departed.

I have cookies and candies,
fruits and spice
but you want to replace them
with snails, tails, and nothing nice:

The reason I collected dust
on the things you let rust
and the things you let sway
everyone that gave trust.

I switch and sway,
no delay,
the way I allay the fear
that you portray.

Too bad I caught on,
too bad for me and you from the paragon.

I have nothing left
but this bundle of tarragon.