Daylight, and the drunk man falls forward on his face;
He lacks a map to guide him to a better place.
Sometimes a hearth that’s spacious holds only hints of fire—
Little coals that soon grow cold like everyone’s desire.
Anywhere is nowhere when money creeps inside;
Beware when words become a place for your lies to hide.
Poems © by Magical Mystical Teacher
More Sunday’s Whirligig #210
More Poetry Pantry #448 at Poets United