“ A Distant Voice ” ~ that beckons ~

I hear a cry

Tormented so,

Tears by the by

Do leave a wake

Of such dismay,

Mind has need

To find a way,

If but to still

A distant voice,

Whose forlorn cry

Allays not beckon,

Into the night

Its waning words

In dismal plight,

Wants restore whole

Thus begs relight,

Man’s dark lost soul!

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“ The Hand ” ~ that feeds ~

As I observe

The hand

That feeds,

Wants serve

The life I live

With verve,

Fashioned so

As fate did give,

To find contrive

Thru every curve

Meant stay alive,

Be worth invest

In destined strides,

Hence to survive

The waning signs

We visualize,

Protuberant veins

Neath thinning skin

Covers aging within,

Telling of life ephemeral

The while bemoaning

Mind means decline,

This hand will feed me still!