Observation on a bleak day
let’s you consider troubles,
unknowingly they double.
As observation is a task.
And to see, remove the mask
by searching through the rubble
of memory, a bubble
that’s been burst, washed away.
But still it haunts its watery grave.
Observation makes me wonder
that a broken woman
and man, who can’t be saved
are far worse than thunder
of thought. It’s an omen.