You’ll shrug the wins and keep the loss
To forests blind – you see the moss
The gain has gone, you dread the cost
When movement feels a slowing sloth

The wish is wind when coins you toss
For always second – never boss
On seas eraged your ship is tossed
When sickness swims within the broth

But held to herald hopes emboss
As roads will go and so we’ll cross
Sometimes we’re found for being lost
When stars are candles – hopes are moths

The coins invested – dull or gloss
So hold the value – not the dross
So life is coffee – steamed or frost
With cream and sugar – extra froth


About A. P. Christopher

I'm a cynic, a nihilist, and a pessimist. I'm a hermit filling the interior walls of my empty cavern with the words and pictures of a mind adrift in disparity. I also like lifting weights.
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7 Responses to Froth

  1. Reblogged this on for the love of fashion and commented:
    such beautiful poetry….

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Brill work really enjoyed it 😊

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Love love love this one!

    Liked by 1 person

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