Escapist Rhapsody Poem by Silas Rosalie Dumont

Deceptive the sunlight casts its warm gaze
On a frost-chilled town in April's late throes
Synthetically calculated songs
On the loudspeaker like a wire of crows
A last spring in this growing, close-knit town
Grows warmer as I sit on this sun-bathed
This earth, which in palliative care doth sit
What future have I come to inherit?
It matters not, this moment is at rest
Let me turn it off, this most sullen wind
Of depressingly realistic thoughts
And let me take it in, what is left
Of this tragically beautiful
Life which will soon be eternally gone