They conjure cheer and beseech
My flesh in even ounces.
Fingers numb, parched to the core,
I cede. I yield!
The frail ivy withers,
Red roses turns crepuscular.
Grins howl! The asleep awake.
I split my crossed arms
To lap up for my hollow gilded
Sacrifice. Ulysses no more!
Cries ring out, Impatient blood!
Once called sages,
They cry over their fallen Eden.
A decrepit savors his last drink
While the hooded destroy the Vista.
Years ago, I embarked. Contemplating, Not knowing where to bury myself,
I erected a hamlet of my own being.
I had, ruled the domain of my poesy.
Now, I must take leave of my former.
You see, the streaming patter of brooks
Eludes no verses of grief.
Lo! Jostling fragments in unison
Sheds it’s previous beliefs.
We are one and we are not
For plights dictate us. Thus,
I shape myself in a manner so cryptic.
Lo! Some are unable to capture
The full frame of my inner distort.
I pretend– Enough!
For now, the dead must awake &
The awake must now sleep!
Alas! I sought only to vanquish myself.
Pic Courtesy : https://unsplash.com/search/photos/dying-rose