Our lives are built on
sand.
And, yet, I am sure,
Love remains,
Hope persists,
Faith sustains.
The shimmering cross
Shines like a distress
beacon
On an everstanding
rock.
But, oh, so few can see
it,
Amidst the toxic
garbage
And the sickly flowers*,
Masking permutations of
manipulation,
As postmodern clichés fill
the hours,
Verbalised by
imposters.
* With apologies to the late Leonard Cohen
