You know, there is a certain point in the future

Where even the worst disaster starts resembling an anecdote

When things that matter and those that didn’t become

Faces of the same tapestry, parts of the same thing

Slightly different, but equally important in the bigger picture

Much like coincidence and intent, he said, sniffing the hoarse smell

Of humid leaves burning, hunching over the fire

Slowly sipping on the expensive crisp green yellow wine

With that self assuring, maddening way of old people

Who believe that just because they accumulated years

They hold the truth, entirely

image source: Unsplash