“ Idle Wade ” ~ to escape pathos ~

Ye squander time

Lacking the know

Of rapid decline,

Or how long to go

Before its consign,

Will find abuse

Hence so resign,                                                           

From inert pursuit

Of animate minds,

Whose idle wade

Be comatose blind,

In a pathos shade

Of life’s meagre time!

 

“ My Septembers ” ~ for a time beguiled ~

It seems a long long while

Since my first September,

When I was but a child

With little to remember,

Would for a time beguile

What mind found render,

Bar be time on my hands

Allowed youth meander,

To later years September

Till too soon understands

A day there’ll be no other,

For life assured ill stands

Save to reach life closure,

Tho not a very long while

Measures the meagre stead,

From first steps to immobile

Held borders bland to dead,

Said be last of my Septembers!

“ You Want Black ” ~ in a world so marred ~

You want black

It won’t be far,

You find tracts

Of spirit’s char,

You want dark

Just look about,

Man fixed stark

And imaged sad,

In fare he’s spun

Yet ne’er regard,

The ruin he runs

To distort colour,

That will blur sun

Thus attain pallor,

Till dark turns black

In a world so marred,

There be no turning back!

                                                           ode to Leonard Cohen

 

 

“ A Short Death ” ~ be nocturnal sleep ~

One comes to terms

With nocturnal sleep,

Be cause for concern

It stays as brief keep,

Of enduring sojourn

To enjoy its breadth,

Save in transient term

Be but a short death,

That has us come back

In a day breaking way,

Tho ne’er assured fact

Let wishful thought play,

Thus so for more than a day!

 

“ A Perfidious Ruse ” ~ waiting for peace ~

I wait for peace

Despite discord,

Eager to reach

Warless afford,

A pact to cease

The overboard,

Of man’s fixate

In a greed state,

While anxious

In fear I await,

The price to pay

For callous ear,

Ignored of way

To render clear,

We left behind

Chances galore,

Of unused time

To amend score,

Waiting for peace

To accentuate life,

In lieu of wanton abuse

And man’s warring rife,

He plays peace as a perfidious ruse!

A Gathering Storm ~ out of rain ~

‘Tis gathering storm

Of man said human,

Rendered deformed

By duplicitous demon,

Though given be life

As a privileged plus,

Man soon found ways

To turn planet to dust,

Where child eventual

May survive only just,

Thus so but the telling

He’d bow to fate’s say,

Fixed by man’s doing

In orchestrated play,

Distorting life journey

In a world gone astray,

Held to flee or to stand

On a predestined bane,

Of his narcissistic plan

In a gathering storm,

That has run out of rain!

                                                       begs find contradiction in time…!