It’s the sign of our times.
A man’s word is as good
As forked lightning in the sky.
It lights up lives
And it can probably extinguish one.
And we all try
To photograph the moment
Only some succeed.
Those with excellent technology.
And a penchant
For retaining vows.
But is it the sign of our times
That lightning is a rare thing
A quick thing
That burns, illuminates
And is gone?
Captured somewhere in print.
And broken bodies.
Or is it true of promises
Of just your kind.
Hearts Still Care 