conversation around the kitchen table in a time of trouble


 the aroma of smoke and tear gas

wafts through the chill evening

the whup-whup-whup of helicopters


chops the air into bite-sized bits

sirens play the melody while marketa

and i talk about what it means

to be figments of someone's imagination


the world may be burning around us

but   if we don't exist   how it is 

that we can detect odors  i'll have to ask 

colin's grandfather the next time we see him   


if the lot of us aren't deleted   or left

to languish   by our creator   meanwhile   

real or imagined   the world burns






Poetry by one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2020-06-01 at 04:06

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
An interesting rumination.

A brilliant work.Never had thought that the world could be an imagination.Bravo!!