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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?