No Sense
The shadow hides the truth.
Some say it is nonsense,
It simply makes no sense,
Then with arcane dealings,
There can be recompense.
Eclipsed and undiscovered,
The shadow hides the truth,
I try to learn the meaning,
It’s hardly ever smooth.
Why is repetition,
Repeated in the tense,
I wish I knew the reason,
Yet it makes little sense.
Flowering in the garden,
A variety of scents,
Spring will bring a bluebell,
Sometimes it makes no sense.
We walk and talk and iterate,
Then look for something new,
Searching for a miracle,
Something out of the blue.
Far away some people say,
Simplicity is lost,
Firing foreign missiles,
Who will bear the cost?
We wait and then anticipate,
The meanings of the mind,
Most of them make no sense,
And is best left behind.
Fires in the furnace,
Fogging up the lens,
Smokescreens in the atmosphere,
It certainly makes no sense.
©
David Rudder
2022
Thanks for reading.
