PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

My Rubik’s Cube likes finished and complete,

It lies upon my desk and looks at me.

In its sight, I am with joy replete

Because the sides are ordered perfectly.

But then, with less than is my normal wit,

I turn the dials and mix the colours in.

Undoing is not possible, I sit

And weep with tears of rage at my great sin.

At random spinning sides, to no avail,

Confusion stays, though all the faces change;

I calm myself, I think ‘til face is pale,

And soon I am not from my cube estranged.

A problem brought about by lack of wit

Is quickly solved by fast regaining it.