Wordplay: The Reading Spot

"I made you something special..." Woken by the Feast day sun Its scorching warmth of joy Matches our happy beaks As we move towards the field. Master has set a lovely banquet Studded with seeds and delicious "pests" We don't know how to thank Master, but We rush to relish, instead. In between gorging sessions I glance at the younglings And my friends  And smile at their smiles "How delicious!", ones' said "A feast for sure!", said another's A few hours hence, Master joins us and Adds to the shine with a staff that glitters; Its gleaming silver matches The harvested rain. I'd stare at it longer, but Master ushers us out Into his chariot's carts  We barely fit, but Master  Isn't frowning, so we don't complain. An hour later Master stops the chariot And leads us into smaller carts On a moving belt. It's been a fun ride so far But Master wishes to make it better! We oblige and settle into the carts Which begin moving; ...

To love like a psycho... I guess we're crying now, the sky and I. I let my own tears fall onto the ground, as the heavens drench the whole world in theirs. I do no such thing, however, for I dwell in my despair alone. I haven't told anyone yet; but the sky does the opposite, every time. How desperate! It hopes for the world to share its sorrows, and attempts to do so forcibly, almost. Its tears cascade onto the faces below, regardless of whether they smile or frown. They drench a grieving man such as myself, so it would be far too ambitious for me to expect empathy from them. I used to love the rain; it used to be my happy place. I could dance in it all day, not having a care in the world. I used to think of it as me helping the skies forget their sadness. But when I cried, the sky only cried harder. I used to think it was because the sky felt remorse for having to see a friend feel so low, but I've come to doubt that view. Maybe its because the sky wanted the world to see ...

I lay back in my chair Watching the seconds tick by, Don't know how much longer I'll wait But I'll do it without a sigh. The tea is already cold The careman's stopped asking 'why'; My schedule has known no chores I just plan on getting by. I think of all the different things I could undertake to pass time, But I know now, there's no point in them Money now earnt is nought but futile. It wasn't always quite like this Life had much more smiles, Mostly mine, but some my son's It's true! Trust this rhyme. We'd talk each day, and all day long He'd share his days with me and Mom But as time ran on, we edged away Buried in our own days, all day long. Things escalated as the world moved on A lot less smiles, each with their share of wrongs Playing and singin' songs are mere memories, Ones I find hard to recall. One fine day, we ended up on a plane Young sonny's wife said he'd booked a place "Mom and Dad's Weekend Getaway...