Harold Macdonald's Muse


 

Down North

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harold Macdonald

It is no joke, the cold we feel on winter days,
and lack of anything worthwhile to do;
emptiness is all there is to view
the opposite extreme TV displays.

 

Lack of purpose, idleness creates;
in unrelenting boredom we are lost,
dark as night inside, the heart as cold as frost
cheerless anger burns, oneself one hates.

 

Laughter canned, the up-beat hosts, the cult of smiles
vomit from the tube. A ceaseless, alien noise
contaminates our frozen void with its false voice
gaudy fantacies resound across the ice for miles.

 

Everywhere is either emptiness or sham
and each condemns the one I really am.