OUR WORLD SO SICK!

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I took a walk today down where the buzzards play

Drifting in and out of the fuzzy clouds golden grey

And the truth they say is all around you,

thinking about it blinds you

Theres always someone to tell you what you ought to know

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Shadowed bundles of grass stacked up in a corner of a field

The sun in my eyes consistently strong is orange, out of range

Not everything in our world is sick and sad, dying and strange

Field grasses laid out in rows are green and the river is brown

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On the day I decided to write it all down

the disharmony

In a paper book with an elastic band and a few damp pages

I’ve taken to crying a lot lately but it could just be the jar

Or the curtains that wont hang together when its dark

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It was an old, mottled, reddish-brown pen, with a golden clip

Like my grandfather would have carried in his inside pocket

Filled from a bottle of blue-black with a rubber topped stopper

The short, tainted lever was hard to pull, stuck fast in its casing

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I’m fond of old people they carry our history in a khaki back-pack

Living out their salad days, they tell us stories in different ways

Our world so sick and sad right now is not dying,

Sick like a sailors parrot

There were two buzzards circling above the path where I walked today

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I finally got to write it down on the plain, wetted paper

The sun had gone in and the ink ran in the warp and the woof

By this time things like that didn’t seem so important anymore

Not as important as old people dying, not important like that

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writtenbyedenbray07.05.2020

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sick like a sailors parrot

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