plastic weekends

everything feels broken;
water, love and this ground
it took five days to mold
everything with a crack

do not fault what’s spoken
fun that is in a sound
or short-lived joy
as a tree with no bark

clench your fist to break it
put tearing to its list
let loose the sky it ties
all will fall from the stack.

morning is awoken
and a new day is found

Ruddapoet