At the mic stood a poet, quite lofty and grand,
With a mind full of verses, but a joint in his hand.
“Tonight will be magic!” he thought with a grin,
But the smoke clouded thoughts as he started to spin.
He stepped to the stage, with a swagger so slick,
Then glanced at the crowd, and it all made him sick.
His heart raced like rabbits, his lines flew away,
“C’mon, brain, don’t fail me! Just one little yay!”
But the words did a tango, they danced outta reach,
He mumbled ‘bout clouds that seemed ready to breach.
“Um, I’m here to discuss—er, a dog and its hat,
Or was it a cat, wearing shades, oh, you know how they chat?”
He laughed to himself, then let his arms sway,
“Let’s improvise some about, um, throw pillows? Yay!”
“The moon jumps for joy on a bed made of dreams,
With snoring giraffes and spaghetti that screams!”
The crowd lost their minds, they were rolling with glee,
As he conjured up visions of turtles with tea.
“Let’s ponder the meaning of socks and their mates,
They vanish like thoughts, oh, the twist of our fates!”
With laughter and cheers, the poet felt bold,
He launched into nonsense, a story retold.
In cannabis haze, he’d transcended the lines,
While crafting pure gold from his clever designs.
So remember, dear friends, when you slip on your rhyme,
Just roll with the giggles, and take your sweet time.
For sometimes the magic in forgetfulness lies,
With laughter and smiles that light up the skies!
Hazy Humor is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
