Reflection Poem by Oleg Vorobyov

While browsing the streets
of one smug transit town,
with my train due
at half-eclipsED sun,
I read on th' wall
of some neglected workshop
(the brickwork crumbling off,
the finish d'seen its better days)
that "death is promise,
your life's a f.....g lie"

I paused at the insightful
and ill-omened idea,
reflecting on how such
thrashing and insightful scriptures
strike their incisive
and thought-provoking notes,
and life seems that a-ripping
at its unseeming sides...