There must be something, I wonder
about that tone..
of broken shards
resonating in an empty room.
Like loading muskets
in a sandy expanse
of a lifeless desert.
Like a song full of metaphors
that makes it impossible to judge
just who is to blame.
Like, like the roaring of thunder
on one of those days
when it doesn't rain at all.
Like fleeting compassion
aroused by a narrative
of a mute roadside visage.
Like a photograph,
framed on the wall,
covered with dust.
Like a broken clock,
at least a decade old,
lying in one of the drawers.
Like an assurance that you have more time
if you turn the dial
so that your watch is ten minutes ahead.
Futility is in a feud
trying to fight away itself..
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