Never before have I so desired something
that makes me feel so complete in my loneliness
Sever the shore, so uninspired, so thin
at waist and heel, replete with dry, bony caress
Wry crony addresses his mess, his chalice, his self-imposed test
Festering, unimpressed, he blesses the dresses now fallen, at rest
Crestfallen at best, yet crawlling nonetheless, the stabbing in his chest a nagging inheritance testament of “Guess who’s next?”
Perplexed by a knee-jerk that reworked his inner workings with a twee smirk and the sorrow of Dunkirk
Empty battlefield! Lay heavy upon me now!
Weigh your levy against me now!
May you never show me how wild war will wind!
The child for sure will find only smiles in his mind
and a grinding, reminding sense
that he has many miles yet to underline
He blunders, blind, stumbles to find a hindsight hollow place to save face from the reeling
He lays, stares at the ceiling
Eyes folded furrows,
the feeling of tears fleeing cheeks into ears of unappealing seedling
The maudlin, the needling
No need does this reveal in him
other than removal of basket concealing him and his light
His fight, his merth and his might
His bursts of courage where others take flight
…much of the time