Pick up your magnifying glass.
For no one can see clearly.
Watch them march,
Read their signs.
They preach peace, dance in the street
Be slow to judge
The makers of the population
That have lost their way.
Times are changing;
Indefinite truths are
All that is indubitable
As we shy from the dawn.
YOU ARE READING
Petrichor
PoetryWe grow old eventually {here are the waking thoughts that consume me}
