i was born at a time
when the clocks were all wrong
the hands
the faces
the numerals
all sped up
standing still
the day
begrudgingly bled
into the inevitable night
a fat gloating night
of surprises
and the like
all the wavy walls
and the crazy on the ceiling
endless long beige halls
and a hazy not well feeling
a hurricane of stillness
blew thru that place
a merciful curse
and from there
to here
the bad and the worse
pre loved half-truths
become a play for a day
and the next
and the next
a wilted sunbeam
landed upon a crooked sill
it stood forlornly
and in the cracked paint
a moment of peace?
perhaps
About the Creator
Bren
“I know what I mean it to be and respect that someone else may read something entirely different.” Me
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