#119 (accountants of misery)

photo credit: Matthias Geh



one silken drop

missed the tip of his tongue

he’s parched senseless

wandering the wasteland

of withheld wishes

the sound of shells

crunching under his feet

shattering like his illusions

relinquished splinters cut

into his bare soles

leaving a scarlet trail

in wet sand


nobody singing

for the lost ones

gone astray in the murk

we count the dead

we count our money

accountants of misery

he’s planting dandelion seeds

on vanity and greed

*17th January

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