Brisbane,Australia

What to make of it
To turn our backs on our blessings
To point upwards,accuse the sky
Forget many hours of a sun’s breath upon us
To believe that our job controls the weather
Black clouds on a carnet
A performer with a gimmick
How self important our vision is
Entertainment without enjoyment
To judge a day by it’s color
Perhaps the next leg should traverse droughted plains
So the fruit of our labors would show plain on the canvas
Or open our eyes to see life in other hands
Those which a man’s could never be mistaken for.