hrow caution to the wind,
or all our capacities of comprehension an fathom,
hey could be a feast for the termites elow,
r seeking the light at the end of an nknown tunnel in the next world,
Not everyone,is able to be in your kitchen, aromatic,savoury here, succulent,delectable,sweet there.
cappucino filled with whipped cream, a joy for your digestive system.
hiding away the flesh from perverts and paedophiles... Not everyone,has a smile on their face like you, or love abundant as the air we inhale,well within their reach,
For all we care, for all we ignore and live on,
his,is the seed for ages in our mind we ow... ot everyone,is like you,
they could be devouring the menial remnants of your burnt pasta,
omfortable in the softness of our comfort,
or fighting over what remains off a stew gone wrong,
ecure in the walls that secure your afety,
when,why,for how long?
or all we can attempt to contemplate,
Not everyone,can wear the clothes you parade.
hey could be subjects to the sinister olatile world,
Cheap like salt or expensive like a weave that looks real,
ulnerable to nights’ evil therapy,
who cares,what matters is,you have them,can’t you feel.
tes their toes,hinders the delight of vening’s rest,
Clothing filled with spots and gaps,almost if not camouflage,
Your reserves brimming to the rim,
or all we know,
hile the wind that so loudly howls, heir body heat prowls,
mice are bemused.
they could be delving in the playground of death, somewhere in the Middle East, where whose woes nobody could care the least. Or succumbing to calamity inflicted by nature’s anger, or grieving a loved one long lost, or enduring an ordeal too unbearable, a pain whose extremes are incredible...
For all we take no time to notice, For all we even dare to care, they could be wearing the rag on Christmas from your mum your aunt refused,
hat’s how good it gets at its’ best... or joined ancient parchments,the church
we are statues,we glare and stand to stare...