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Fatalists
Folder:
Autumn1012
The feeling not relieving:
Losing feeling, hope, and tears.
Growing numb without the know.
Nothing felt, nothing's cold.
Blurring noon, half-past, and quarter to.
Growing light, white poppies bloom.
Hills on fields of gray, no names;
While gone away, remain the same.
Tightly woven wads of gum,
Tightly tightening, smiling sun
Quietly simmering burning refuse.
Desert deserting its own hanging noose.
Living inside, bladed edge like a knife
One kind benign, kin carrying strife.
No need to unite, no where left to hide.
Don't worry, don't panic,
Fatalists accept life.
