eventually I think we will sink from
all the tears the icebergs leak from the polar
caps, and the radio man will say “today
we’re sinking with a chance for sunny
skies later”, always later while the land
gets smaller and smaller and the time grows
later and later, until the face grows weary
with wrinkles, take the advice of the
beggar, hold your cup, ask for a little change
hold that face straight, hope the others don’t
see that hint of a smile at it all, hope the
others don’t ever see that imploring smile
We're certainly beggars in this cycle, and time has run out to effect change. I guess the hint of a smile shouldn't show a gratuitous 'I told you so.' Thoughtful piece Ben.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ben, your recent stuff reminds me of Nick Drake lyrics, but enriched further. || for a stone in a tin can/ is wealth to the city man/..who knows what a face is for. Goldy