Ineluctable

It all seems so mysterious. Was there ever
A finger that wagged, a nearby voice which
Quietly hissed, “It's time for your happiness
To be extinguished?” When was the shroud
Thrown over the sun? Losing began to seem
Normal, though, sometimes, success of a sort
Would appear, dressed up as failure whenever
It did. I look out. The fields are fine. I see
No danger. The air bears not malice, but
Songs of the birds. That plaything, my rational
Mind, says all's well, but I'm sure that it's wrong.
Darkness draws near. Time to circle the wagons
Again.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 110 times
Written on 2019-08-05 at 17:09

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