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Times
Time is radiating like halos in the bright sun,
hummingbirds feed off the sweet nectar of hyacinth,
love returns at the sight of sweetness; the smell of lovers in the sky,
unconditional, it takes the form of becoming.
Truest in it’s form,
the truth has never been set free nor free at all,
integration of proclivity with cleanliness is the business of tell tales,
strong in it’s core, leading the way forward.
How it is,
that love is the youthful stance of radiation,
as if stillness in the adapted ponds were a given, the geese surround,
hope floats in a gentle stream of non-existence,
idiocracy has become the gentleman’s song of prolonged discourse,
as armchair cynics float into placement at the figures of temptation.
Secret lovers abide by the sun,
hourly busyness controls the pleasure principle, into Jung,
temperament is the control mechanism of allocation, goods, the danger,
while all of us beg to be released into the midnight moon,
galaxies full of stars, surrounding the nature of humanity.
Anna Rozwadowska 2020
