Terra Not-So-Firma

We are double-edged blades, and every time we whet our virtue the return stroke strops our vice. - Thoreau

in an unexpectedly  flippant cotillion at the horizon

trying to be all that it could be

the sky reached down and plundered the sea

a firm ground chuckled to itself, "you'll never reach me, i hold the key"

daylight lifted darkness' night shirt

as time dragged to strut and flirt

oblivious to the widening slit in its own short skirt

mountains stretched to try and hug the sky

a bloated memory wondered, "who ate the last piece of pie?"

an old man dragging a worn shoe asked them all,  "why?"

yesterday demanded of today, "why did i have to die?"

tomorrow laughed as it thought to itself, "you're all living a lie"

faith made an appearance but didn't know what to do

as it limped steadfast along with one slipper and one shoe

Author's Note

"A man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can afford to let alone." - Thoreau