Mixed American Messages

Flashing open sign

in a locked and lightless store:

Welcome friends. Nobody’s home.

~

Closed sign on the door,

laughter and music within.

Private party in progress.

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Ionic Ironies

Air filled with portents,

intangible potentials

seeking easy paths to ground.

~

How that huge old tree

must feel the charges building;

dread their incandescent leap!

~

And, yet, there he stands,

reaching up, ever higher,

as though to taunt the lightning.

~

Will that shocking bolt

strike him by complete surprise

when it rends him asunder?

~

What of his remains?

Will they stand for the ages;

A monument to folly?

Works in Progress

Oh, how time has flown,

These five years, since your passing.

And yet, much remains

As it was before you left;

Consistently progressing.

~~

Not that you would know;

So invested, as you were,

In the status quo.

~~

Wait! That last harsh barb,

So bitter and unworthy,

Harkens back to grimmer times;

Long buried seething fury.

~~

So, the status quo

Remains beneath the surface

Like long neglected hunger.

~

I suppose healing

Sojourns can consume lifetimes;

And perhaps, even longer.