I want to believe that I’ve made a mark.
I have altered lives .
Rescued some from icy waters.
Reached out. Enriched.
and, in turn, became Richer.
(we all do?)
But does the past look eerily similar to present?
This old smoky hick town
Has the same sad skyline of soulless eyes
As the day I arrived
I, for one, feel nearly as poor.
Somewhere there has to be a fail safe.
A switch that stops the rich and powerful from
Tippling poor and downtrodden.
Surely Something stands between us and
Tumult.
I want to find ZuZu’s Petals
Tucked from an eon past
into my pocket.
I want to go on believing
Good triumphs over evil.
One word
One action
One
That separates Futurevile
from past possibles.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
la fey wit 
…so well you arranged your alphabet
to (eversogently) capture
that feeling in autumn
of what’s done and knot
and could we or would we
(cruel conditionals)
and time ever flowing around
slowly slowing travers
and the unfairness
of expenses and returns on investments
but even in this deranged balance sheet
life yet lives and breathes and will not
will not allow demagoguery to kill
what is good and right
in those of us who see the whole world
as family.
Of love and hate,
I believe love trumps hate.
Rg as always, you seek and find that which I have expertly woven into oblivion. Yes I know you too are a nail picker upper I note your addition here and think of it every time I lean to pick up the errant metal.
You are a weaver of rare talent and as the weaver oft times perhaps too busy weaving to see that the colors you choose, and the warp and weft bring understanding rather than oblivion…
Is weft a real word or a rogerman thang?