In the midst of indulgences,
in the wake of excess,
I peruse the differences,
that all things must possess,
a murmur here a whisper there,
the utterances that I vainly digest,
to figure and decipher bare,
the indigence which truth hopefully divests,
taken leave of my thoughts and senses,
going off the straight and narrow,
through the wilds and jagged fences,
uncharted streets and tear streaked windows,
shed from the yoke of bitter order,
removed from care of flighty fancy,
aloft in the float of nether powers,
stripped from joys from piety and mercy,
in the grip of winds obscuring vapors,
in the tempest of rain the temper of storms,
in the deeps and scenes observing in candor,
my tattered vision sees no gentler sojourns,
alas in exile in thought and in form,
my remaining moments to dance in the gloom,
no less distraught no chance reforms,
till the fading sonnets the end is soon.
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7 years ago
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