We Watch You Play

Many are suffering, the imperfections of your perfect lives. Every day, for most, is not a milk paint toast to life, in Santorini or the god's own voyage in the Med, nor a 'Venice flat' above a world class cafe...down a thousand year old alley.

But it is life, as 'really' lived...by most, and learn, we do of this, and stand afar, do we, to watch the stolen beauty and your lives of bliss. We wish you well. We watch you play. We watch you seine the arts of all the world, in your golden nets and drag them away.

The fine, lithe youth, you covet and you pay King's ransoms for, are never seen again...by the ordinary. But, the sand is running down...time to turn the clock, and the frowns of the world...upside right, for a 'sea change' comes, filling every bowl of gold, with brine, and kingdoms, that were buried in the sea...will rise, to dry in the sun.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2017, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Ordinary life in Cuba, google pic