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Application For Sanctuary by The Noted Poet Elizabeth Jill

Subject: Application For Sanctuary

To Whom it may concern, please.
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For about 9 days now I have noticed that a huge metaphor has been stalking me. It follows me everywhere and - when I'm home, it waits for me to come out. I've had to change my identity, and now I have applied for the Witness Protection Program. All of this has been to no avail.

I note that if I accidentally make eye contact, the metaphor gets stalkier and ever more cryptic, if you will.

And so, well. Such is how it grows. Having sympathized with huge metaphors in my younger days, I thought I knew the territory, only to find that I have inadvertently smashed into a rogue idiom. I wonder now if every blurt of breath is yet another insane idiom, that all is idiom. Just yesterday I was deafened by an outright outrageous alliterative alliteration. And now this morning I've been clotheslined by a roughshod - yes, a very very uncivilized - hyperbole bent on trying to pin me down.

How has it come to this, that I have been yanked out of my tree and landed abruptly here? Is this somehow the place where the synonym-metaphor-stalked wind up?

I know what you're thinking: syns are safety nets. But I think you'll also agree that metaphors are tricky lassos. Especially when armed with marauding similes. Something to fret.

And digression is clearly not a dependable savior, here.

But I digress. Here-in as presented is my plight for your consideration.
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Poetry by Chaucer Whethers