Nobody knows when
love will roll in and
waltz with your crippled
soul.
Nobody knows when
the chickens will come
home, or when the dog
will have its day.
I heard of a place where
silence blossoms into
flowers of wisdom, but
when I ask for directions,
nobody knows.
I taste the sadness of
the sky in every poisoned
drop of rain.
I was born to swallow it.
To be consumed by the
gray expanse.
I ask for the antidote,
the cure.
Nobody Knows.
What happened to the
street signs, the picket fences,
all the love and empty spaces?
People play games, and only
traces of humanity remain.
How do I pull the cord on
this parachute?
Nobody Knows.
hello dearest Thomas who is to say what wisdom is maybe knowing it is futile is true wisdom…not all of us play games and if we do we may not realize it until later that might be wisdom a reckoning with behaviors… great write 💕
Thank you so much.
“I heard of a place where
silence blossoms into
flowers of wisdom, but
when I ask for directions,
nobody knows.”
Love this…unique to each individual, often found when least expected 💖
Thank you.
Cleverly penned, Thomas. Amazing write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thanks, my friend.
“traces of humanity remain”. Basically how I feel about the world as a whole. Great ink.
Thank you. I appreciate it.