That type of day

Now don’t you worry, I’m really okay
I’ve just been having a type of a day
You know the day, you’ve had it as well
The kind of day that can just go to hell

It’s that certain day that starts just off mark
Like sudden drizzle on a picnic in the park
Not worthy of anger, or fury, or rage
More like cutting your finger while turning the page

And nothing goes quite right, but not wrong enough
To make you complain that times sure are tough
Sure, you can handle it, no trouble at all
Just all of the shit, combined, ruins it all

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The Ballad Of Blinky, Pinky, Inky and Clyde

(What is this about ?)
They banded together,
together they’d win
Keep their whole world safe,
no dangers within

But sure, it was hard
to stand their ground,
they had to split apart,
and move all around

Thus goes the ballad
of Blinky and Pinky
of their pal Inky
and then there was Clyde.
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War of the words

He warned us for sure that he had them,
the biggest and all the best,
words of mass distraction
and words for all the rest

Worse than words of war,
so powerful and so strong.
They’ll rise above like towers
for all the others are wrong.

A thousand words a minute,
in tweets and posts, on hats
rien ne va plus won’t fly here
just continue to place your bets
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And so it goes

It came to pass, one evening
as I found when I looked around
that everyone was utterly lost
and yet, somewhere, also found

While a looker barely looks, a finder has found
that searching something sometimes has a cost
accosted, abandoned, astonished, on the ground
and he found

that no grief
was actually
worth grieving.