B.s. Pie

When the ______hits the fan
as fast -as fast as it can.
You come running,
Running, running very funny

funny like an Easter Bunny.
Now bouncing on one paw,
with other paw in the air,
your hopping high,
your hopping scared,

Gathering your lying eggs,
but they smell bad,
soon to explode in your Easter bag.
Hopping to the saint on the couch,

Saying words to flatter you come out of his pouch.
Saint laughs in his head,
he comforts you and puts you to bed.
On a bed of nails he makes you wait,
telling you what you want to hear,
making you take the bait.

Only you are the fool
for your caught in your lies,
making a mountain of B.S. Pie.
Funny you will never realize,
you've been tricked,

but your lying and thinking your slick,
thinking your the one with all the Easter chicks.

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poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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