Trundling a bundle on,
Pushing the covered wagon
Feet dragging, toes digging into the earth.
The sun obscured and hidden
Dry throat rasping in the parched air
Music retreats in the distance
Fumbling the simple things
Staying distant and affected
Mind sagging, flows right into the worth
Recapture the fading flame
Burn it bright and throw it away
Set alight the paper dreams,
Not much, not much, nothing doing, not as such,
Time to feel the physical world, the sharp edge of pain push,
lean against the tense coil of mental toil,
quieten the restless sea of mental boil
I go over, I come back
The country in a rack,
Our money drained away,
The grey corporate giants sway,
Suited and panicing,
Sinkholes, thinkholes, black holes stammering,
Confused bedlam breaking the austere ranks,
Set them to flame on the tide! We do not trust their kind!
But that is change,
that is progress.
Surely a more spiritual truth awaits,
If only it could be controlled,
Or can only a personal nothingness make sense…
The pillars of the boom, now shadows in a gloom…
Just when we were getting used to it to…
The commentators adrift
Prognosis skipped
Expectations guiding the realization,
Seeing what must be there,
the sharp eye can shape what it sees.
