A haze of opinion
Envelops us.
If not a haze, or after,
A fog of misunderstanding.
In the end
It is only conflagration and choking smoke
Of angry arguments
That foredooms our downfall.
Tragic.
Indeed.
Conversations for obstinate opinion
Stumble into debates
With no resolution
For misunderstanding.
Debates
That for our nature
Fall into bottomless hells
Of angry, interminable argument.
We beg
Our separate gods,
Await relief
From the Fates,
And examine our frail philosophies.
Seeking at every turn,
Hidden answers
As to when and how,
If not ever,
Or too late,
That like sunshine, dispels the haze,
A timely breeze scares away fog,
And philosophies effectively guide,
We will forever abandon this hideous cycle.
Soon we hope.
Soon, before it is too late.
© 2020 spwilcenski
Exposed on spwilcenwrites “Loose Poetry – June 13, 2025”
Ramblings 