Eye of the storm

when everything turns grey

Light breaking through layers of our cloudy dome. Our home, and the homes of people we know, and have known. A Crispness and a glance in adjacent ways out. It fills a gap with strays, the side-lines that hold consolation at bay. While the frontline embraces the brunt. Together we can hide behind the scenes but up front. It’s a massacre, the far side of the river hides hypocrisy, and if were all in the same boat then were all in the Liffy. No jiffy, just a dam coincidence to those born in the wrong time but in the same state of mind as mine.