A Hundred Days

A hundred days have passed since it began.

So anyone who came of age since then

Will know of nothing but this raging war,

Impardonably thrust into our lives.

Are all attempts to look beyond such days,

Anonymously scribbled on the wall,

A futile antidote to these cruel ways?

Or something sinister which may recall

A game which every canny person plays:

To test how far the future has to fall?

Ukraine

◄ Strange Feeling

Fancy Man ►

Comments

Profile image

Stephen Gospage

Sat 4th Jun 2022 17:41

Thanks to Frederick, Steve, KJ, Julie, Holden, K Lynn, Kevin and Rudyard for liking this poem.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message