6 June 2012
The crows' calls are like screams in the morning, Ringing out their ugly warnings, The clouds so dark it's like a new day isn't dawning, No waking up to stretching and yawning.
The somber mood is a memory block, The lulling security of constant clock: Tick Tock Tick Tock
A confusion spreading like a dust-fine rash, Turning thoughtful men's actions thoughtless and brash, Bringing any seeds of joy down to death with a crash.
A poem with no meaning filters through the screen, A young person's voice high, clear and keen. A fountain of knowledge from us yet to be seen.
Poem Without Meaning. • Opuss № I