Death and Taxes

Cynical Wordsmith

Mind the times
They tell me.
I do,
But I don’t.

I am eternal
And least likely
To question the normative,
The everlasting emptiness.

We know the kind I am,
Disbarred and depleted,
Like so many kinsman,
So many thoughtful prophets.

We’re all alone,
In life and death,
And I’m just making do
While paying dues.

I need a benefactor
For a destitute soul,
But the endless voids
Are so hard to fill.


View original post

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.