Lawrence S. Pertillar
Bad Lighting From Oil Lamps
What worked yesterday...
And seemed a perfect fit.
May have lost its usefulness.
The benefits have been exhausted.
And yesterday for many has gone as lived.
Those living today,
Are not patiently awaiting...
For updated versions,
Of that which for them does not exist.
That kind of patience for them,
Is not authentic!
And those minds left to praise war,
As a cause to maintain an elusive peace...
Are as outdated as the typewriters they use,
To get their messages across.
Lost they are...
In the bad lighting from oil lamps of times passed.
'Do as I say.
And hand deliver those alerts,
To the town crier.
And if Paul is not available,
Hand them to someone else.
Or my suggestion would be...
Do it yourself.'
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Comments about this poem (Bad Lighting From Oil Lamps by Lawrence S. Pertillar )
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