Thinking About What is Useless (After Mei Yao Chen) Things of the night crawl from their frightening holes, as snow begins to fall. Flowers and men are buried in their earthly graves, forever to stay that way. Why we exist is a mystery, I’ll never solve. The stars are beacons, but give little light. I pour a cup of tea. Questions without answers will disappear with the early morning light.
George Freek‘s poetry has appeared in numerous Journals and Reviews. His poem “Written At Blue Lake” was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize.