There are times when the world stalls,
The millpond settles to a mirrored sky 
And even the reeds cease to sway,
The wind hushed, blown out.
And no matter where you look;
How hard you listen;
How much you grasp the earth in tired fingers,
Everything is wrong,
Not quite right,
They might say you’re disenchanted
These people of the razor-blade smiles
With their pristine jackets
And sparkling whites,
But what pains most,
What burns
Is, they are right,
You just don’t know why.

20 thoughts on “Disenchanted”

  1. WOW is the WORD. This is officially one of my absolutely most favorite things you’ve ever written. WOW

      1. I know the inner-self-depricating Richard may be squirming but enjoy your moment, there are many more ahead.

      2. The man in a box / compliments he likes not / for naught is the ego of a writer in torment

      3. Actually much as I am boyed by the idea of compliments, I rarely believe them, so it is our destiny to be jaded over sandwiches me thinks …

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