Eight, seven, six, five,
How many will be left alive?
Twenty-seven, three, nine
Trace the enneagram divine!
I sketched in sidewalk chalk
while trying to confront writers' block.
So I patiently fill my coffee cup
Waiting while wondering if I'm stood up.
Pyramids turning and triangles crossing
They're torn apart but still engrossing.
Damn it, the background noise ruined my rhythm,
I can't form an effective rhyme scheme!
With social demands comes comic timing
Wrinking dharma into karmic writhings
Maybe we're all just the Devil's playthings!
Ironic chains masked as wedding rings
With the world in turmoil,
Who can count on what the future brings?
Wishes, ambitions, hopes and prayers
A manic collision for any couple who dares
To reach out in hope for relationship repairs.
Instead, we stay
Out of their way
And hope for the best.
And we pray
They manage to stay
Together, though maybe
Their breakups are for the best.
We cross our fingers for their kids
And try to feather our own ones.
Maybe we'll stay in love
Our passion could retain its zest,
But we'll refrain from judging others
at our own behest.
So if the world finds you at peace some Monday morning,
Remember your happiness could cease by Tuesday afternoon.
Turmoil could enter your life without warning,
So cheer up, but take heed and prepare for potential doom.
You never know when out of some corner,
bad luck could change your cheerful tune.
Maria DePaul is a writer living in Washington, DC, whose work has been featured in various publications, such as Haiku Journal, Terminals Magazine and Three Line Poetry.