• reflections__ 17w

    Better than worse

    For a sunday that's brighter,
    I toil on soils as barren
    as modish mindsets.
    For a monday that's gloomier,
    I sail on ships made
    out of holed beliefs.

    The harvest I've reaped
    mocks a late singing moon.
    The Titanic on oceanbed still
    out-sings my cry of gloom.

    Farmers in my land are
    poorer than their bread,
    Sailors in the sea return
    to drown in insolvent land.

    A wise moon pulls at
    ignorant ocean tides,
    A brave sun gives way to
    a hope for sanguine nights.

    For better or for worse,
    Duality of the world never finds
    a way to grandmother tales.
    Cosseted mouths never eat dust
    unless stuck in black blizzards.


    And as they say, life goes on.
    Well, it does.

    ©reflections__