Some chap who happened
To gaze on a clock,
And saw one digit all aligned
Like valiant soldiers waiting
In the firing squad?
Wish. Discount the source.
Ignite lanterns come night
And let them flutter
To the sky, where soon
They are nothing but
Indistinct flickers of wanting.
Sarcastic, to say with less empathy.
Pathetic, to denounce your "wisdom."
Perhaps the hanker was
Never as critical.
Or maybe just an amusement,
A comedy to give guise to tragedy.
Dream. Let the wish linger
A while longer in perception.
Kill time to witness it coming
Once daily. Nine, ten, eleven.
Eleven eleven.
Who are we kidding? #
photo credit: burningman
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