Getting Lost
In the impost
Slippery grit beneath my feet,
ever-shifting sands,
and endless analogies,
They are all part of the strands.
That join the dots and fill the slots,
As moments drift on by,
And fuel up the uncertainties,
However hard I try.
Getting lost in the impost,
blinded by the light,
in a world turned upside down,
Morning, noon and night.
It’s in the air and the despair,
sneaks slowly like a thief,
On the screen, it looks obscene,
And causes so much grief
Everyone is different,
And all find ways to cope,
millions of different methods
Yet we all live in hope.
That tests and technology
will evolve the panacea,
And once again, we can feel safe,
An epiphanies idea.
And meanwhile top of the pile,
Are ways to realise,
ways to do things differently,
And prioritise.
A way to cope with the smoke,
of the uncertainty,
And reconcile that with a smile,
It is a way to be free.
©
David Rudder
2022
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