...
Here I sit upon this chair,
all bound up in thoughts of dispair.
But the message came and went,
these young fragile lives; already spent.

When the clocks rang out,
and the longing turned to a shout,
those 25 cent pockets of gold,
keep grasp of dear hearts they hold.

The wheels gound down those tired old tracks,
laden with bags of full yellow sacks,
the blue realms down down below,
where treacherous thoughts did sew.

and the day, fresh once more,
held little more to settle such score,
the insanity of all it is,
yields little than this short quiz,

and here we are, this chair again;
thinking about the moment when,
my world will crash and burn once more,
and see everything tumbling to the ground.


H.