Given up, the thoughts given into, treachery
One hid so well before, did not explode
As a communist party with an agenda which says
Comrade...comrade this comrade that.
The public stops writing about their cares, for
It seems to be too late to do anything more than
Weep for fallen soldiers in the land gone, reminiscing
Of how older folks who can muster the strength to see
Another depression pass. Sometimes it is bleak
At times it lasts. Away from the slide puddle, we
Go on imploring that we out last the day, just one
More time. Giving inheritance away, we substitute rhyme
One last art form , mirrors reflection; time.
Christopher Baird 2012 ©
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