BETTER DAY

Better Day

In the folds of a wizen frame
More rise
Toils of a given game
With more sides
Music is the cure for a crisis
I search to find my lost minus
Life is a snow drift
With a slow rift
In a mould of domes we could have known if
We just listened
And never spoke
We’d have never coped
Because we’d never have to cope
The joke is every single soul bears suns of possibility
Within our cities of sums of hostility
The energy that runs with the sons of lost military
The ones who recovered the songs of our dynasty
My destiny stresses me wise
You learn to see the bad times as blessings in disguise
Lessons of the skies
Stars and satellites
Red nights of flights of consciousness
The old thoughts of Kings and conjurors
Are now the words in the lungs of Londoners
Of how an unseen energy may course through the mist to a way
Towards a better day.

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