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Wherefore art thou?
When spoken in tongues
Of long hair and flaxen hues
Of mistakes and definitions
Of individuality
Fondled and beaten
At the hands of
Voracious youth
Of which you once were.
Let lips do what palms do
Hit and mutilate
Violate
What is spoon fed, swallowed
And hence disposed.
The ideas given and not born
Adopted, not had
Of toil nor sweet sweat
Therefore remaining as bony
Carcasses, ne’r to be filled with
Viral flesh of unfettered
Imagination.
Profaners of this neighbor-stained steel.
If only that is what we’d speak
And not, take from me
The Nasturtiums, and grow woozy
By their scent.
If passion had its play
For one stanza
Of what is the peacing,
Drying, losing life.
I have lost myself; I am not here
Perhaps the only truths
Spilled by the depressed and
Lamp lit halls of vitality.
Taken is the choice, given is
The rose.
Weep not, though we!
Ignorant to giving away
The heart of our timepiece.
Forever a half. Never
To be recaptured
For who are we to fight
When there’s nothing left to fight for?