Thursday Morning

People killed, some others thrilled,
Bomb attacks, growing tax,
Earth is quaking, markets breaking,
Rivers polluted, dictators saluted,
Forgiveness forgiven, mind to craziness driven,
Friends are hating, haters loving,
Jobs are lost, laws criss-crossed,
Financial crisis consuming, recession booming...

Fuck that,
I'm going back to sleep.

Let This World End Already

Mind wrapped in a cellophane
Static narrative of the present
Draws voice picked fruits of intellectual purity.
On the outskirts of my perception,
How am I to comprehend
The inevitability of the today
If the tomorrows of the days to come
Devour the pasts that already became.
The vulture of my voiceless thoughts
Reminds me time and again, not to expect,
As expectations surpass, contrary to the passing of time
Which is nothing more as a certain state
Of our ubiquitous iniquities of imagination.

Time

The clock does not run
Beyond the tick-tock of eternity,

As they say death is eternity.
Futures that will happen,
Might not happen at all,
This is the smoothness we cannot achieve
Except in a child's creating possibility.
The stunned silence
Of knowing I will not remember
What I heard
Pendulum motion finite stops
By a determined, invisible hand.