I will not allow the winter to eat from the same plate
the sun has been hungry for a very long time
There is a feast up there and the stars seem to have missed it
But who cares because there are no wedding bells

Wedding bells are a sign of majestic marvel
In one village it is the end of something
In another one it is the beginning
But both villagers flock when wedding bells ring

I have over fifty coins to give out
and I choose the hands very carefully
some torn from their body, some soiled
some so little that they can’t hold a coin

Feasts, wedding bells, coins, hands and what else?
a severed finger in a war torn country
one that belonged to someone, I don’t know
But yet I will today, mourn for that person

Categories: Poetry

Tags: Absurdness, Myopic, Poetry