Poem: The Search

Wandering, not pandering
Shuffling, not slandering
Guffing, not bluffing
Sloganing, not meandering

I search for beauty
In an ugly world
I search for meaning
Where insane rule
My fist ever ready
To strike my foes
Those who dare
Bring me and my loved ones low

Ghosting, not coasting
Gloating, not sugar coating
Leering, not jeering
Gaping, not raging

The world is an oyster
An ox, a bull, a bear
My brain is a luxury
The HQ from which I dare

The road is narrow
But not my views
I choose to be silent at times
Rather than publicly
Sing the blues

Cheering, not blaring
Endearing, not snoring
Jabbering, not boring
Glaring, not hoarding

Collapse is something I’ve predicted
For several years
As I see a globe teetering
Fragile and cliff-hanging
Led by profit driven
Sniveling
Shrills
Popping pills
Pressuring me and my own
Attempting to break our wills

I am not alone
On this dead leaf road
Others surround
As I modify
Frowns

In this situation
In whatever crises
I’m thus never a goner

What an honour . . .

~ Gunnar Våken