old ground

we’re covering the same old ground,
on each word, we obsess:
the fields are neat and ordered, but
the human heart’s a mess

things go as they are wont to go;
they come, and pass away —
new crops upon the same old ground,
another
yesterday

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure. View all posts by Beleaguered Servant