The strumming of chords
Paints a song of pefect love
But the painting is smeared with colors in discord
It’s not the clattering of cups and plates
Or the blathering of neophytes -
Those aspiring prophets cursing the fates
They, one in all, distract
Like melting icebergs, the war and the last political whore
That bubble gum yimmer-yammer keeps my sanity intact
I admit I’m so damn vain in my pain
A thirty something who hates ground hog day
But I won’t refrain from re-playing that silly game
No comments:
Post a Comment