As Winter stumbles cross my horizon

As thine fall close draws to the near
Lest be it of mind o’er that of whimsical quirk
A reflect own cull of carnivorous smirk –
Hast with wicked twink of eye frothed in leer
Doest Providence cast to thy flaccid sneer -
Whence didst not a peek didst her in past quiver and perk?

Trast in con the once she wouldst to wither to arrear
Banal and lustless to sight now all too y the wear
Carousel’d carousal seem the e’er within the throes of stirk
Limits of un held loose in beguiled chirk

- A mayhap the Fate’s cruelest jeer –

As steady as if both knees hast impaled been by serrated poison’d dirk;
The blood tracing back to import that now couldst want to shirk
As passion’s touch nigh be duty o’er that of sincere
The stoic resolve crumbled to mulled o’er mere
From infantile omnipotence to hapless burk
Into thundering quiet of thine winter’s certainty doth disappear

Tagged: A.B. Thomas, depression, ethics, Frustration, poem, poet’s rally 77, poetry, reassessment, values