Bury the truth, like a golden coin,

dirty fingernails, claw the sand.

 

Ambiguity floats, words are twisted.

Misdirection forced, lazy street lights pulse yellow.

Exaggeration everywhere, hollowed dead trees,

that litter a forgotten forest, fall in the wind.

 

An over-payment, heavy coins fill the hand.

An over-read writer, reader find something valuable.

An over-powered car, a fun, growling drive, up the mountain.

An oversight, a fancy empty word, that makes,

ears fill with Styrofoam, and sand.

 

“We have encountered several issues,

and discovered many opportunities for improvement.

Moving forward, we hope to act in everyone’s best interests.

The oversights, should diminish in the foreseeable future.”

 

The tongue flops, and twists, its wet body dries.

A fish brought into the air, on a gray wooden dock.

In the fog, words float away, empty and lost at sea.

Reality, a razor blade hidden in sand.

 

Do you love me?  Yes! or No!

Our relationship status is not suffering an oversight.

Am I getting a raise? A promotion? Fired? Say it!

There is not an oversight in procedural engagement.

 

Can reader be cared for?  As words jump off of the page.

Can the listener be fed truth? As the answer is given.

Does ‘I love you’ even exist? As relationships are wounded,  in a teary fog.

A task, a love affair, a job, an expectation, respect, compassion,

all have been lost, by some sort of oversight.

 

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert