Better

If I could sleep, I know I'd say it better. 
In these long days, I'm made of sand and stress: 
Receivership -- a hidden sort of debtor -- 
A wine that leaks out daily in the press -- 

But you and I believe, although we struggle 
Recapturing, rekindling the dream: 
The tariffs being high, we're forced to smuggle 
Our treasures in along a balance beam 

And comb the beach for memories and feelings. 
The distances get lost along the way, 
Among transactions, trade-it-offs, and dealings 
Are all the things that on us, daily, lay -- 

  The brightening fire burns, but it refines us; 
  And what we choose to go without, defines us.

Published by

Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

Leave a Reply