Harmony

What is more precious and profound
than the comfort of common ground?
We can utter the defiance against probability
by the simple vow it will happen, "when pigs fly."

But then we are truly in our hearth of ease
using all the favorite ways we weave
so many fondled phrases to impress and appease.

Let's celebrate the balance of predictable,
wish "sweet sixteen" to anything or anyone of sixteen.
Warn unruly spirit with threats of Heaven's wrath
in the declaration, "I'll beat you like a red headed stepchild."

Thus we can pontificate our sedated, slumbering sagacity
spill forth the wisdom, "contrary to popular belief."
Define toddler quirks with, "The terrible twos."
Surmise fate in tangential surrender of "Where the wind blows."
Excuses advancing perils of aging
crowing wrinkles with prophecy of being, "Over the hill,"
or curse a vile villain with, "You're a snake in the grass."

Alas, we drip the familiar from our tongue
its droplets flung in upon each segment of reality,
borrowed creativity from time's thrift store.
Yet, never without a lust to check out more
from cliché's library with arcane thoughts galore.

Where else can we browse and find what we need
not having to worry about returning it overdue,
happily hoisting our tattered word flags up a pole
to see who will salute it.