Drop in the Ocean

The water trickles down the stream,
the tears of the sons of the world
and pallid everydayness
desperateness
clings on winter’s day
in time for sugarsweetbitterthrills

The lark flies down the stream,
the flight towards the roads
less traveled. The openness
of air strangles its wings
with a faceless crowd
So soon did it have

to leave until the moonbeams
shines the waters heavy
while the nocturnals whistle
in the darkness
in the starkness of the shallow streams
The water trickles down it seems

like grains of sand in your hands
The lark amends
The faceless crowd does not bend
to the petroleum butterflies
They want to drown down the stream

and vanish in a drop
And while your hand makes a ladle
You’re neither quenched nor refreshed
and as it dissolves
in your hands,
the water trickles down the stream