the air
is cynically sublime
in the way
it sucks
the will to live
from gasping lungs
the sky
is petulant
in shades of gray
the lazy rays of light
marionette strings
on an uncaring land
the carcass of hope
has been hollowed out
to fit
a family of five
comfortably
in the filthy residue
we languish
in the sublime cynicism
of melodious
melancholy
while it all falls apart
around us
Mike's Manic Word Depot 
I remember before I had a baby, I told my Dad I was scared that I was not able to provide food or education to my baby. My Dad told me children didn’t eat a lot and slept on a hard floor with cover was sufficient. I took my Dad’s word for it.
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