Drudges and thralls
caged in clocks,
welding days into years.
Wages unlock gates
for … a holiday.
They fly across the world
to stand on borrowed ground,
marvel at the same sky,
bronze in the same sun,
convinced it’s better.
Yet back home,
the same Earth is
dimmed, diluted,
dull.
Why?
Is it receipts they admire,
or the story they post?
Conforming to filtered joy,
oblivious to their own.
Why reach for foreign rust,
when gold gleams beneath their feet?
© 2025 WolverineLily 🌺
Author’s Note:
A sunset got tangled in street cables above the lamps. Not a postcard-worthy view, but perhaps even more beautiful. What’s the point of faraway wonders before exploring your own backyard?
Wolverine Lily 