Don’t always march to another’s drumbeat,
Nor always dance to another person’s tune,
But march in time to your own heartbeat and
Dance and dance, till you reach the moon …

We had a shelf life,
an existence that we
        played like a broken

fiddle, out of tune...

But now every string is either
          broken, worn beyond its
reproductive rhythm.

Were not creating  vibrant
        versions.

Just broken, collages that
are just not a complexity

        more a diluted, infertile

copy
        broken and substituted

never to be the real thing..

humanity is just a fading shadow,
    fading under the unrelenting

sun of reality....

She sat there plucking bits out of the long grass in her hand
The wind ruffled her hair, lifting her eyelashes to the majestic view of the sunflower meadow
The sun setting had made a dark scarlet and purple hue in the sky
The birds retreating back to their nests
Over with their daily hunt for food, and singing their melodies
She sang her own song and whistled to the tune of the birds
Her eyes sparkling from the last rays of sun, she closed her eyes
Laying her head on the soft grass, she dozed into the night of stars

Strum me like a string with the coarse tune of your laughter,
embrace me like the quill that you use to write with a paper.
as I lie awake; reminiscing the times we've had together,
a ticking time slowly pacing from one way to another;
a kiss from the wind; leaving one's heart lost in constant blunder.

the singer should have warned us about his out of tune song
it was so undeserving of our live ears
the melody was unpleasant and the tune horrific
how could there be devotees to such bad talent
it just shows you that some ears are deaf...

Brian Hill - 2020 # 241