The Oracle gave me this one from the first page of words. I have a feeling there will be more if I load the next page. There’s a sadness in the air this morning.
This is all about her,
this music that never fades,
this sea-billowed white ship
that never sails out of sight,
the leaves, blossoms, branches,
blowing beneath a changing sky.
This mother would stop the madness,
dip the world in sweetness again,
but we close our ears with grubby hands
and race our bare dirt track,
senses soaked in illusions
and the smell of asphodel.