“So what is discord at one level of your being
is harmony at another level.”
A short poem on the changing times and the duplicitous society.
Seeds of sun and a hypnic push,
Crisp cold air smothers the recluse;
Shadows of a mothy, but just dreamed Poe
Peep through hinges of a creaky trap door.
Back to the realm of grey and black
Cacophonous spells, and a cul-de-sac.
A multitude absorbed in crime and lust,
Amidst volumes of tea, and stained rust.