“ A Near Dead Soul ” ~ draped in defeat ~

A near dead soul

Bled of iniquity,

Hobbles his way

Draped in defeat,

A façade now surly

Etched on his face,

Burdened with gait

That once held grace,

Who journeys in hell

From wrongful deeds

His mind can’t dispel,

Now sadly bears fate

That mirrors his hate!

ode to death of a friendship

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“ Man’s Season ” ~ be but one taste ~

 

Near all seasons

Of nature’s bent

Has a reason,

Most to feed

The next event,

Thus to embrace

A cycle of reinvent,

Save man’s fate

Who aspires reach

Time’s scant decree,

Yet his own season

Of ephemeral state,

Be of limited reason

We’ve but one taste!