Caricamento in corso...

This Mourning

One’s conscious, proves unconsciousness,
therefore, its rest is sleep beyond one’s owned depths;
days past, soothes time’s exhausting thirsts,
before the wind’s churn, stiffens a mind’s limp sails;
numbered, noted, nothing’s odd naught,
self’s trials, those dear toward life’s slow cooling descends;
remembrances’, suffer each fate,
awareness begets truth’s thoughts, these melding deep.
Equal such, these rapture’s lone bring,
reaches fully, into one’s centered ideals;
each mist, each shine, each conscience strength,
enlightenment’s song, and how one’s sorrows reel;
lifetime’s crude, flows ever and slow,
change direction’s helm, across a lifeline’s tell;
legacy fixed, or is it chance,
settled nothings this, these ides that batter self.
Forevermore, through life’s result,
differences thresh; one’s sea at odds by awe’s this;
such mores, such just, affect depth’s thoughts,
elicit too, of mind, heart, and spirit’s crest;
decisions substance, vex time’s jewel,
life’s gist, it’s trust, the wiles of conscious resists;
forbear such nonsense, minds ascend,
purpose supported, above all time’s constraints.
One’s ego then, at odd’s beyond,
under nourished bread, upon one’s tongue is placed;
fortune’s due, sum fed hollowed self’s,
scored lowbrow dunce, opined nom de plume posthaste;
against these facts, begged nature’s true,
throughout each life, one’s timed lines remain untraced;
success, neglect; passed horizons,
time insists thus: let not greed’s touts, US disgrace.
Michael Darrell Walker


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