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stranded at the pinnacle
a jaggedly tainted edge
too late to be cynical
clinging to the ledge

events that transpired
who would imagine
patterns can be hired
costs but a fraction

great upheaval worked
now all is turvy topsy
order was turky jerked
the world all a-dropsy

my fingers feel numb
there's nothing to save
but for a small sum
patterns dug my grave


aubmut
e.

Hi elazar,

I enjoyed your poem. I'm not very good at explaining why, so I'll just leave it at that. Nice avatar as well. Thanks.

Linda.

thanks Linda... as long as you like it, doesn't even need to be a why.
salut
e.