Boris

We sit on  a train

staring into the abyss.

Is this action, really sane?

My fears, you dismiss.

The abyss, coming closer,

the end ever nearer.

You think you’re the composer

but that is a veneer.

You’re but a puppet

on a cut-price budget.

The Sentiments

The sentiments, are all the same.

The sentiments, are all a game.

The sentiments, allowing you to pass,

your job is done, no need for more.