The Loveless Marriage
Barry W. North
It sits on broken shores,
in a land where tools
are valued above people,
yet constant labor builds nothing.
All day, inhabitants,
with maniacal determination,
pound square pegs into round holes.
Nowhere in the land
is there a meeting of the minds.
Two plus two is three,
sometimes five.
Four is an illusion of the wishful thinker.
Escape from the madness is impossible.
Everywhere, travel is difficult at best.
Roads are nearly impassable
and always under construction.
Rain, when it comes, is never welcome,
causing horrendous floods.
In this land, nothing comes easy.
The sound of work is the only music,
and even the sunsets are noisy,
coming down.
First published in Iconoclast
Barry W. North
It sits on broken shores,
in a land where tools
are valued above people,
yet constant labor builds nothing.
All day, inhabitants,
with maniacal determination,
pound square pegs into round holes.
Nowhere in the land
is there a meeting of the minds.
Two plus two is three,
sometimes five.
Four is an illusion of the wishful thinker.
Escape from the madness is impossible.
Everywhere, travel is difficult at best.
Roads are nearly impassable
and always under construction.
Rain, when it comes, is never welcome,
causing horrendous floods.
In this land, nothing comes easy.
The sound of work is the only music,
and even the sunsets are noisy,
coming down.
First published in Iconoclast