“Today one may pluck out one’s very heart and not find it.”
― Franz Kafka
Simplistic seasonal changes give way to the reaping of small harvests…
As the western world reels from another chaotic and senseless attack.
Caustic comedians are wallowing in sanctimonious apologies
while casting wide nets of blame blanketing the very ones they mock.
As a fallen candidate joins the fray with the same empty mantra…
“Not my fault….”
Madness and hatred are the offerings on tap
while unsuspecting berries ripen on the bush
There’s an old nemesis who seems to be enjoying renewed friction
while the media and press proclaim the sky is falling.
As the dividing line between right and left becomes impossible to bridge.
There’s something comforting in the mindless gathering of ripening fruit
Something seemingly mundane yet blessedly sane…
as the world spins wildly…
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