The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation - Thoreau |
Midnight Rue Pastoral flocks in tranquil scenes show simple love and life serene. But fortune sings a siren song; adventure leads a young man on. Where now the boy who tended sheep? Gone to the city bereft of sleep. From azure skies with endless view to smog-tinged walls and midnight rue. Reddish pulses in late-night heat; he lies awake 'neath sweat-damp sheet. LED segments marching on, marking time as he waits for dawn. The tender shoots of hopeful spring, now dry and bent, don't mean a thing. Wrong turning points, poor choices made, a playback loop of plans mislaid. Soul-suck job and social striving, endless climb without arriving. Achieving goals instead of dreams, a brittle smile hides silent screams. The fear of want, and wanting more can blind us to the narrow door. God's love leads up, where Angels dwell, but Hell's a place we send ourselves. Author's note: ▶︎ |