Lackaday Lays

[Emil Miller]

A soulless stretch of searching
Wherein we shackled dwell
Along a road all lurching
To some forgotten hell
Words fracture phrases splinter
All fraught with problems set
Where in unending winter
We stumble with regret
Towards an unknown region
Wherein no light’s discerned
And aching hearts are legion
And glimmered hopes are spurned
But poets have no need to be
Unutterably glum
Churning out the gloom and doom
Whilst sitting on their bum
Ignore the lousy weather
To write with joy awash
And all agree together
To ditch lugubrious tosh.