Be Seen

Nothing much new to be seen
Faces melt into the screen
Time to be stolen
Time to be gone
Going is going
Here all alone,

Behind this there is something
Only behind something nothing is

What exactly as it appears to be
Widows of unloved weeping silently

Behind buildings dust is growing on
Coats of armies conjured without means
Horizons of thought slants downward leans
Into corrupt unthinkable schemes

Here all alone
Going is going
Time to be gone
Time to be stolen
Faces melt into the screen
Nothing much new to be seen.



Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 299 times
Written on 2022-05-15 at 02:19

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