Bouncing Poem

Nightly, my spirit 

Bounces on the heads of atheists.

Those crowns are the springiest of all,

Hardened, like walnuts inside, but 

Their soul-fleshy exteriors are so springy,

So unlike their puppy dogmas.

Each night, we step across the river-crossing

And leap with laughter upon the stepping stones of

Silly Cynicism.

I know we shouldn’t,

But it’s an irresistable night-time game;

Bouncing on the heads of atheists:

Into the land of tones and colours

Beyond the limited rainbow,

Into the richer place.

Giggle. Boing! Boing! Boing!

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