Contentious
is this palace,
full of melancholy
dramatics,
wondering at each other,
whose arguments?
Can you pick at it?
Stoking the fire of
ever-eternal gasps of
hateful spasms, of
vilely worded anomalies.
And I wonder,
what’s there for it,
this atmospheric anger
and gloom,
that haughty, self-important feeling
that encompasses the room,
and I fight to slay
the belligerence,
away away away,
but,
until night turns to day
the emanating of retorts
groans under the weight
of an expectation heavily
homegrown,
but in this house,
with my deck of slyly worded cards,
I’ll read the fortunes of others
and rephrase them
so they’re happier, the
positivity more toward.
I can change this climate
but others here,
why, they must
want to too,
exacerbate the ill feeling
if you dare hope for
sadness,
I know I would rather
whistle until brightness
lifts their gloom.
(18/10/21)
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