sober whining

An intoxicating mix of happy and glum
looking for that silver lining…
I, pine for the moon and the sun!,
but eyes veering toward the deadening

These pavements lead me nowhere,
take me back to the dirty old road..
where the green grasses are realer
and our wretched souls aren’t sold

Half asleep in an apocalyptic malady
the trouble with the waking, my dear
is that dreams are a better rhapsody
than the awaiting realities here

Now the whines are out laden,
let the spirits be quenched;
break must hearts to be open,
and face life again with fists clenched