Disenchanted

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,
Unsettling.
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.

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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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