Do not wait ‘til death
to mourn,
to mourn.
Instead stand shoulder to shoulder
and weather the winds of rage
as splintered hopes impale the last
refuge of delusion.
No funerary silks nor petaled
velvets can mend
the ragged threads of
marooned desires, and
no gilded box
will ever contain a compass
to track the clandestine
footfalls of serenity’s course.
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This is quite good, Seraph, although S1 feels stronger to me. This seems as if it was written many, many years ago by an elder poet, who is imparting some earned wisdom.
ReplyDeleteI have so much to say about this. However, it sticks in my throat like a dog that got hold of chicken bones.
ReplyDeletedavid
Thank you both so much.
ReplyDeleteseraph
You've used some of my favorite words.
ReplyDeleteI mobbed them from some old bard while time traveling:
funerary
petaled
velvet (when accompanying "petaled")
And I love the euphony of the word, "clandestine."