A Voter's Blues Comments
a time shall come, like ages before
when these deserted villages will burst into laughter
every prodigal would return on a colourful motorcade, singing redemption anew
with lots of bloody gifts, to buy our trust and cool our temper.
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What a hellish spectacle and travesty of democracy. What will the NEXT SEASON be? This stinging phrase combines starry-eyed hope with ironic acknowledgement of the news cycle. I need dreams, yet I go into a public toilet and find that someone has stuffed wads of paper towels into a toilet, in our supposedly civilized country. Instead of being cherished, our common environment is subjected to repeated insults. (Of course the suffering you describe is massive compared to my daily disappointments.) I try to dream that the collective unconscious has innate wisdom that is even now developing a blueprint for something better.
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9/10/2025 5:14:48 PM # 1.0.0
You are right Denis. Thank you for the honest thoughts on the poem.