... cantered light-heartedly downstream to their doom.
— Patrick Leigh Fermor
Somebody down there hates us deeply,
Has planted a thorn where slightest woe may overrun.
Disorderly and youthful sorrow, many divots picked at since
Across the thrice-hounded comfort zone.
Can't cut it, sees permanent crones
Encroaching aside likely lanes of executive tar
All spread skyward.
You got the picture, Bub:
This world is ours no more,
And those other euphemisms for grimly twisting wrath,
A wire-mesh semblance bedecked
With twilight's steamy regard.
Look at the wind out here.
Delete imperative.
Hours where money rinses life like sex,
Whichever nowadays serves as its signifier.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
5 Stars full for this thought-provoking poem. No space to note these words: Congratulations being chosen by PoemHunter and Team as The Poet Of The Day. Hoorray! I am very happy for you, dear great Poet!