THE GLUMS OF NAVARONE

when the Silver Lining tarnishes
and
your tired hands can buff no more
call 
it 
Antique Bronze 
and
when your dreams turn into the Dark Fantasies
and
the
Cynical Alibi of Expiration Dates runs a Red Bath
call
it
all
Sunday Blues / call it all Weather / call everything SUCKERS
and
observe from your REAL belly-middle
your sealing wounds / your drying sweat
and
watch / wait / cling for
the
Existential Metaphorical Yellow Crayon
drawing itself into a hot circle
upstairs
in
your
minds stumbling struggling Shit Brain 
and
be 
happily useless / reason-free hopeful / anything and whatever
under
the
unexpecting unlined innocent queue
of
clouds

heroesandhellions.com