Winston, a plump bird
With a vibrant crown, barrel-chest,
And eyes sparkling with crimson,
Scarlet shades, stood erect.
Melancholy was Winston’s only friend,
As he was tormented by the options he had,
To fall into eternal slumber, or to be part of a freak show.
On his glacial hoax,
Winston was at his spotlight.
He presented his failed Field Sobriety Test,
To which the stars would shine,
Only to return to the night sky.
The cacophony of jubilant shrieks coming from
The cardinal faces had been shielded by
The invisible barrier that had separated Winston from his audience.
That was what Winston’s youth yearned for.
But he has yet to realize that he
was just a spectacle
for a watchful public.