Forlorn

Hunched over in my indecision to subjugate one from three
I count the shadows running headlong from my empty dreams
Over yonder in the darker circles of my life I espy a glimpse of fortunes long since whispered gone
Empty cups of tea have always favored my old bones

I pick at the scabs and scars of lesser wounds and find absolution in my toiling
Never was there such a sight as tissue writhing in agony
Spent wishes and salty kisses render my flaccid ego wasted
I look upon a blanket of stars that only wink with their dismay
Those bastard oceans far above

Dismantled in my intellect I appease the dusk and hide in rue
A broken soul with none to barter
One from two and three from five
How much longer must I falter?
Thirty-one is but my number
How much more must I suffer?

For death is writ, but I shall see
A darker wisdom pervades me
Long seasons is the sentence
I lay awake in misery
Yet all too tame is my life
An acolyte of blacker meanings
I dredge on in my strife