Poetic World

Winters are always cold,
Springs hopelessly hopeful.
Summers evanescent and
Autumns funereal.
I am always unhappy, unfulfilled,
You are indifferent, cold (cf. Winter),
She is unobtainable,
They are judgemental and despised.
Nature is hymned or threatening,
machines make misery,
work is death and destruction,
business is best forgotten.
The Sun burns and unveils,
the Moon is many-faced, mellifluous,
the stars are a backdrop to dreams,
the Universe a vague, unspecified presence.
And the Earth is our home, our
gift, our despoliation and
sublimely indifferent to
our clichés.