this world

this world has become
a shabby chic shit shack
with wooden words
on plastic mantle pieces
telling us this is our home
and it’s filled with our love
so you best buy into it
distressed and going cheap
this world’s not my world
I want nothing from it
no fake words of wisdom
cut and pasted consumerism
give me four bare walls
with wooden floorboards
and a shelf of worn books
shared food on the table
and in the woodland garden
birds singing their sweet songs
as we swing on the porch seat
holding hands in the warm sun
your lips on my neck
telling me you love me
that we’ll always be together
forever and for eternity
this world is our world
it’s what we make of it
but I’ll never know it
for my time is too late
the wood casket’s calling me
calling me to my fate
calling me away from
this world I wanted

s-l300

with sincere apologies to Woody Guthrie . . .

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