Another Tuesday

In the form of a poem, written long ago

Lived today as everyday, played out in slow-mo

Far far away, beyond rumbling hills and mulching cows

Sand strewn deserts, past night’s moonlit glow

Silver shine on passing train, boot crunch on strewn grain

Pale shadow of Tuesdays past, this Tuesday too shall pass

Like every other day of wasted opportunity

Lazy beings do not connect well with eternity.

Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated THE CYNIC’s story.