Come on!
Make it rash, brash, quick
Even unthoughtful, unthinking!
Wait!
Wait.
It should be
Slow,
Methodical,
Stuck in the
Thick mud.
There is dim hope either way
For that disturber of the peace -
PANIC
Settles in for the foreseeable future.
Like a seaweed growing
Through guts.
The intestinal tide
Allows it to brush sides.
Hermes follows nervous
Pathways to
The outlandish territory: Grey Matter.
Matter ponders.
Thoughts grind and whirr.
The photograph album of 3 decades
Leafed through by
A callous thumb
And Indecision remains
Firmly seated on His throne.
foreseeable future, good write, thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I hope this is the political inability or the inability of foolishness of the people last line confirms the throne every where like this see politicians are organised and due to this they exploits being in less in number and the subject the people they are not organised they are the looser...nice poem with present problem nice to read