Where was you when the crow called?
perhaps lounging in your worm plagued nirvana,
"no more the days of the falconer" they cried
no more the memoirs of the derailed
When the music stopped, we kept on
dancing till our feet got sore
we are bobbed up mind-wise in incertitude
our eyes, veiled of our own volition
if this were a state, an arid it would be
treacherous creatures crawling by
uncertainty would be her pater
and we would have lapsed in gloom
but still we will dance on
rhythm unheard, melody unrefined
we will scour the soul's field
and pray for better days
DAP
No comments:
Post a Comment