Impermanence Sings

A poem

Photo by Nicolas Lysandrou on Unsplash

Expectation is fictitious,
impermanence is true.
This matrix is benevolent,
the nightingale is too.

Paralyzed by entropy,
vacillating, cratering,
piecing fractured wings
together in increments.

My lips crestfallen,
my eyes strained by
arcane phrases
on the wall.

I hear night’s footsteps,
as the purple sun
shrivels into a
black periphery.

Roses, petunias, lilies,
my botanical garden angels
shall bathe these sorrows
in Edenic viridescence,
eventually.

~DS