Omigosh

Of all the skies, mine is not infinite
My dreams all vague and indefinite,
My sky flaunts no sun or a polestar
Just dark, foreboding clouds by far.

Of all the oceans mine is most restive
Serene or stormy, it’s quite tentative,
Not fit to surf, cruise or yonder sail
with lolling breeze or boisterous gale.

Of all the lives mine is quite curious
gravely funny or teasingly serious,
Not fit to write or tell tall tales about
with no mystery or labyrinthine plot.

Of all the desires mine is quite unique
It comes suddenly, leaves just as quick,
I’ll suffer the consequences of my vice
when simple pleasures just won’t suffice.

Out of all the gods, mine is different
not a pal or a foe, oh, just indifferent,
Not fit to enshrine or kneel to worship
to form a religion or a good fellowship.