stillfugue

There are the days,
the sun, a heady furnace,
burgeoning lasers and storms
of white, frying me in a crouch,
as the charging knights on horses
of glass come round to crush our souls
while we earn a meager living, one
that certainly requires gratitude, but one
that requires imprisonment within the
towers of slick darkness reflecting the evils
of those we never see, of those who would
starve us of our grand purpose, who would
steal our grace, would have us grip the
carpeting, chewing plastic trucks
waiting for freedom that will never be
here in our canons of dark light,
longingly searching for anyone
who might comfort us in our
endless decline.

.

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I was happy to be able to participate in Claudia’s hosting on impressionism at dVerse.