I heard an old song
Sing its pain;
It reminded me
Of us again.
Old songs do that:
Sifting their tune,
Cradled on lost stars
And a forgotten moon.
The words aren’t the same:
They are rusty hooks
And dried old flowers
In dusty books.
It always befalls
That the singer is me;
And what we were
Becomes his melody.
It’s three minutes
Of our past;
Yet, it’s these three
That will last.
This time is such
Where free will is bound:
Sickness attests
Air, fire and ground!
Rampant fear of death
Fills society – tears its peace!
#Thesystem is collapsing,
Breaking, piece by piece…
The centre cannot hold,
It whirls like an eddy;
It twists and spews and vents,
It can’t remain steady.
Cries for breath and hope
Gasp and clog the air;
But are warned by powers,
They shouldn’t quite dare.
The world is staring,
As we grovel and plead;
Our leaders are rallying!
But not one can lead…
Losers are vindictive:
They poke and prod and kill,
They incite and lie,
They do what they will.
My country is caving;
Nature has wrought her ire;
If I hadn’t doubted her,
I may have seen her pyre.
…keep thinking of you…
I don’t regret that you have left.
It’s just the way you did.
It’s not that I am bereft.
It’s not that I didn’t try.
It’s just that I was dying
And you, actually, did die.
Hearts Still Care 
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