Waves of deep pure shimmer in the background. A muffled roar of anger rumbles in the distance. The white gardenia in a clear glass bowl Doesnβt smell as sweet as memory recalls. All the wight of merely being is a burden. The cuckoo clock is running slow And needs to have its chain pulled down. The shutters on the windows are all closed And the walls are painted in a cheerless hue. The tablecloth is cluttered up with nothings That demand attention but give no reward. The painting in the attic slowly ages While the face seen in the mirror stays the same. The creaking hinges of existence Slowly start to close the door And all the butterflies are left outside. kjm
I posted this five days ago and it never appeared, apparently. I just tried again and got the dread error 502. One more try.