The Poetry Marathon

Friendliness has sown in me the decrypt notion

That life figures itself, without hastle.

It is to logic that we must prey

Try to keep our noses clean

Our heads swaying in the heat.

Forbear the wonderful day, keep going till the end of night.

Withstand the rain, and not lay down your soul in the desert.

And most of all forgive yourself the quiet indiscretions, that keep you awake at night.

Crazy coincidences happen every day.

Sometimes when we are done burning

The world around us conspires with the universe,

To sound out a judgement in our favour.

That’s when Laburnums grow.

While everything is turning into dust,

Brittle, blown away into the winds,

Soft trees stand tall, like a great big challenge to the sky.

Wafting away, seizing every opportunity.

Demented in spirit, but light as air.

Horrifying from afar

Vibing in the tendrilous breeze

Of inadequate earnings.

Made from broken promises and

Meaningless gestures, non -serious in density.

Apart all else is doomed.

Sent away to the edges of the world.

Where beauty resides in colours

Purple turns to yellow, turns to green.

Harkens in sleep a bewildering dream.

Walking around, disconcerted.

Wondering what went wrong.

Was it the good times, was it the vomiting.

Signals from other worlds more meaningful than ever.

Stuffed cotton under the skin, makes me feel like a rag doll.

Rags drenched in yuck and liquid, what was it?

The good times, or the good times to come?