amid the frantic rush

hang your harps
upon the willows
and your masks upon your ears
when night's sharp
dreams pierce your pillows
hang not life's hopes on your fears
 
hang unto
my every last word
drink its message like a knife
even you
shall taste the vast sword
in the fullness of your strife
 
hanker not
for remnant treasures
where you sow naught but distress
every blot
that inks your pleasures
shall of you demand redress

late the cry
amid the frantic
rush that seizes vagrant hearts
will you die
loyal to antics
though their burdens make you phartz
 
'tis enough
that time should bind you
in this compromising pose
where the slough
that has confined you
leaves your prospects comatose
 
buckle up
your train is leaving
(destination self-destruct)
lest you sup
wine tart with grieving
from wild grapes your tongue has sucked
 
© Copyright 2021 January 09
by Clyve A. Bowen♫