We're blithely pretending that all is well
Naively mistaking icing for cake
Under the lullaby tolls the death knell
Crises and catastrophes multiply
As we curate images of order
We’re blithely pretending that all is well
What sort of mind can be bored by a plague?
Who asks what else is on during a war?
Under the lullaby tolls the death knell
On the meniscus of oblivion
Things seem gently to curve toward the light
We’re blithely pretending that all is well
Though nothing is more common than darkness
We complain about the food at the wake
Under the lullaby tolls the death knell
What preternatural pretenders, we
Pressing the suits we’ll be buried in
We’re blithely pretending that all is well
Under the lullaby tolls the death knell
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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Comments (6)
The suits are pressed, the make-up beautifully done. Then our bodies rot and return to nurture the soil. Aptly compensating death with life...life with death...and so it continues on and on. Lovely poetry.
This is so good, what a shame it's late! Pressing the suits we'll be buried in.
"Preternatural pretenders", I really loved that! This was a fantastic Villanelle!
This rings true like the death knell. Brilliant concept, and a gripping manifestation. Bravo! 👏🏻
Brilliant work D.J. - We can become so apathetic. I loved this poem. The dark humour, the message and structure. Top job!!
Ohh my….this is wow