Life; Under Sun

The sun’s ever-blowing
and reeling in heat
while the world still is turning
‘neath privileged feet
and the daughters
and mothers
are all but the same
in the game
that is life
under.

So we bound over
fence-posts ‘n goals made of gold
while the sun still keeps reeling ‘til
heat does grow cold,
Yet in southern Bermuda
a man plays a flute
carved of motion,
emotion,
and hard bamboo shoots.
And the sound he emits
forces birds all to rise
As a sleeping man
under
a willow tree sighs
and the birds that have flown have all left empty coops
As a motherless son tends to overcooked soup

in a kitchen with tiles
and things laid to waste
in a garbage disposal
devised for it’s haste
Where there’s no light at all
but perhaps some burnt soup,
it’s just life that we live
under...
The sun.

Author's Note

I've been practicing stream of consciousness a bit.

Please Enjoy!

Reviews

[Glen Yumang Manese]

Seems this develops from one theme into another thought pattern and collectively merging into one unified thought...that's what I got from the verse...