Eyes through the window
Glance
Staring
At the moist night air
Friday night
As heads, and hearts
Wander, and wonder
As dreams
Drift
And lift
As hopes
Are squandered
On a flickering chance
Of romance
Until reality
Squeezes in
Through the back door
Of false hope
As caged canaries
Whistle, and sing
Hoping to escape
As their wings flutter
Like bread, and butter
Remain stale
And obsolete
As we all bleat
Like lambs to the slaughter
As woollen hearts
Are sheared

by Jemia