Oh the yellow mist of forgetfulness
that arrives with the disenchanted dawn
and mourns
at thy lassitude
and the magnitude
of your sorrow.
What buys tomorrow
but can't afford today
And the bright chequered sail
of the ship to nowhere.
Sailing through the cornfield of contempt
although the emptiness
of the birdsong
will gradually
turn my mind
to thoughts of my own mortality
and the insanity
which stalks me from behind.
No comments:
Post a Comment