False Jester’s in the park as the music plays way too loud, the sounds of nature are being drowned out by the celebrations of distraction.
Lone rose sits silently on the curb, it’s petals spread around it, claiming to be a decoration or a declaration of surrender.
Hear the battle cries, see the men crawl, across this rose garden in the fall, where the flag still hangs upon a rusted pole overlooking nowhere.
Man walks smoking a cigar, it’s half chewed and barely lit. It’s aroma stays close to the dirt ground, where the fallen lovers lie helplessly stoned by loves ugly cousins.
Soil, damp and grassy knolls, in the distance you cringe each time you hear the broken bells toll. In the distance, like disingenuous church bells they ring loud, strong and untrue.
The hands on the cities clock, they turn with a pulsating beat, strangling the life from time and expectations.
Lone spectators speculate about the why’s and how’s of rivers. As the river runs through the park, the hearts and the peeling bells ring on and on…
Symmetrical brothers separated by circumstance and excuses, promise in blackness to always be there through rain and through sunshine. They shake hands and embrace, turn away and all is lost.
Jester’s in the park, they dance, juggle and romance their way into the false hearted dealers of hearts and clubs. When will it begin this rapid end of despair? It will melt once the sun comes ’round again.
Just another description of the scenes that play out in front of me. As time goes by.