poetry

semi-souled sorrow

So were the halves of one homeless man...

In the pale glory of a spectral moon,
Beneath the canopy of a rustling woods,
Danced two forms—one in blue, one in maroon—
With eyes flashing from beneath their draping hoods.

They reveled and they skipped—untamed folly—
As sprites are given to when unchained and free,
Chasing silence from the night with each volley
Of leaping hysteria and laughing glee.

So were the halves of one homeless man
As he slept restlessly among fallen leaves;
He had laid there before the sunset began,
Handing the sandman the threads with which he weaves.

And from but this one there emerged these two,
Slowly awakened as his eyes drifted closed;
One’s name was Past, the other Future New,
And together they conspired as the Present dozed.

One, it reckoned the lessons yesteryear bore,
The other designed the hopes of the morrow,
While both celebrated their mutual lore
In the then and there of semi-souled sorrow.


 

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