The Bard – Trust


Trust is like the

blue of skies

it’s  present for now

but suddenly


like a pretty day in may

and a woman

denuded in the wake

of play.

Filling in forms with a black

Pilot pen  Hi-Techpoint

V7 fine   repetitive

regurgitated data    data

he chews  it like grass

pity the bard cannot

smoke any longer.

The sun still rises above

the long dust- green hill

but opposite a white façade

a blinding mirror

light in leaps of bouncy play

burns words on pages

of another inquisition

he has to trust.

It taunts his mind

a shell for survival

like a raft without rudder.

Zoltan ZelanImage, trust by ZG-Art

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