On a splintered
and cracked
Wooden bench.
Electricity in currents
passing through the air
above.
No rain-
No storm.
Only the questions
that answer themselves
In lies,
In laughs,
In yells and tears.
All for wisdom-
that mocks itself
with ambivalent
unimportance-
Twiddling thumbs
Over years of sorrow.
1 comment:
I like the reflection. I picture and old man feeding birds. really cool tone, loss but complacent, no hope but no dread. This one is very smooth.
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