Published by: Faith Villaluna
Date Published: June 9, 2023
Time Published: 7:38 AM
Category: Poetry
Theme: Vulnerability of the Meek
This kid is a quondam dreamer,
In his hands are his little stoccadoes:
If time is an infinite rival,
Life must be to amerce his little mind.
He is the gasted virgin soul of tomorrow,
And the living shattered hope of today:
He spills water when he speaks,
And harms himself with furious romage.
Skirr him with full courage!
Make him abrook the bawdry of his own blood:
The lunes of his existence challenge the madman—
Visions defunct and overflowing pipe dreams.
The cautel of the mouths is his last straw:
He must write and gasp.
He must think and decay.
He must poison and vanish.
On his last notes are the dead—
Rejourn the breathing and the steps:
And then he surrenders,
“My life ends with no metaphors elucidated.”
Painting: Moonlit (1878) by Arthur Parton
No comments:
Post a Comment