red water day

you can go lower, they’d lied when they said

that a basement exists for your spirit.

so many down divots exist in one’s head

that an optimist simply won’t hear it.

if you can’t imagine a further fall,

if you will not allow for a consequence,

well, then you are in love with a lunatic’s wall

made of mattress and pillow and incense.

but i am the mad man, you quickly laugh off.

i am the one who has daymares.

yes, it’s true, i agree, you do quite well to scoff.

but i’m also the one with the gray hairs!

so what if you’re grey, they do quickly reply,

are you bragging of nearing the end?

not bragging, my friend, for i don’t hope to die,

but i’ve seen, on this earth, what won’t mend.

for those who have studied their image in water,

those who’ve looked deep into silence,

they are the ones who provide minds real fodder,

they are the down-shipped sunk pilots.

— but you do not seem happy, they sing from the plugged ears,

and we only listen to the gay.

and i can not combat them, for i wish i’d no fears,

but now is the red water day . . .

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.