This Po-Optic Truth
Birds fly against a blue clear sky
by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Air fresh and clean...
Fresh of pollutants.
Faces of people appearing full of light.
A poetry mix with an optical fix
That plays over and over without drifting,
In the minds found misfit.
Judged by those who babble with booze
Lost without attention spans to cross.
Boasting and boosting themselves in garbage.
Where conflicts are enjoyed and mastered!
This po-optic truth...
Is said and seen,
And left behind!
As quickly as grim is washed from hands!