From the rural world of certainty,
under the eye of a benevolent god
permanent having laid, to a landscape
urban and roaring change, where
everything bought at great cost
soon discarded, no wonder a man
would end up fixing the meaning
of words in the forgotten works
of the long dead. A little polder
against the rising tide, a pointless
exercise, yet when all is pointless -
what else to do? Write bitter poems
on the side, when your polder
with stiffening fingers raise.
01.02.2023
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse
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