Photo by Tadeusz Lakota on Unsplash

Happiness, a summer fleeting,
Gone, like sunshine after rain,
Misery, so-near-completing.
Winter’s grip remains.


Death of friends leaves us diminished,
I fear we do not grasp at all.
How needy men just crave a respite,
Want the clocks to stop, is all.


Footsteps in the snow deceiving
Whiskey priests dream Magdalenas
Drunk at noon, asleep, forgetting,
Dig a grave in air, or Moon.


Do not lie so-closely, children,
Alm-house works for tramps who choose
To be the man who sings divinely,
Who loves the dogs, who dare not lose.


Whine when April zephyrs blow.
Golden, blue eyes, genes-decided,
Stranger than you seem, or know.


Drunk or sober, charm the picture
Of an ease that cannot come.
Men still plead from deeply rooted,
Musicians’ violins in tune;
Music rises, never waivers,
Cast your lots and read your runes.


Human graves, already heaving,
Overburdened, sunk by time,
Death’s a mistress, we’re her servants,
Hits you like a bullet train.

Almost Satisfied by Noah Hall & Whiskey Priest (2014-05-06 ...

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