Between The Futile and Famished


Between The Futile and Famished

When the dawn comes slowly

I may be sleeping in

But much to my dismay the day it begins

And the sun does beckon, arise


But to my eyes, it gives little dismay

For here, upon this day

What strange things I may see


And may these strange things be

Good tidings to me

Even if they are faulty or deprived


For in this eye I make all those dreams

Of which schemers cannot conceive

Until they are famished, fast asleep


So, I will not weep for the world today

To its strange idols I will not pay

If all the banks and liquor stores go away

My day dream shall still remain


So the ghost I be in the shadow so bleak

Where light will one night have its day

And the people will toss away their petty lots

And the futile shall not be given a single thought