It is not in the swift course of life that
I should doubt a foe's incentive, but
a friend's intent;

know that I, stung, do not falter,
but quicken my step - and leave
Revelry's Mistress for the dance of deceit;

yet not of betrayal, but of Charon's keepsake,
he who holds the memories of those who
would be best forgot,

and if nay, not forgotten, then those
who would wish to forget

seizing only their paramour for heart's plunder
and leaving behind all of soul's travels,
keeping at bay those who would tether them

to sentiment and harass them for the
privilege of genuineness.
And yet it is in the absence of

passion's thunder, and the roar of blood's
drumbeat through the muscle of the heart,
that desire is wrought and beckoned forth

for I who would keep lifetimes has
just now learnt to live his own;

with Misery's discard and the fruits of new 
vitality, all that is now within my sight
can be understood as to what has only
ever been in my reach.

Yet let not the bitter hands of time,
the mighty clock of life,
hold back old ambitions.

With the grace of old faces and no
new names, beseech your providence
and expunge sore wounds -

take from the past not experiences of lessons,
but sensation. And to the future, hold only
your magnifying glass,

for what you seek in advance can only
show its rewards larger upon greetings;

the present, ignore it!

A constant balance board, but know you cannot
go back nor force your way forth -
go and go and go,

toward only your pleasure then, for you are
not kept in locks and chains, and of your
pain think only that you will grow

sturdy in its wake, or it shall
first leave you in its tire:

vigour keeps us from Moribundity
and pain teaches us the expression
of discouragement,

but lasting the longest we have conscious -
and love! Love which we find is to serve us
when we serve others, yet it is not the reward

but the lesson -
and lessons, lessons, lessons.
We learn from others, but what we cannot

apply to ourselves is not worth knowing,
but in friend's intent we do not search

for ourselves, for we already know where
we stand - and where we are invited to sit
without hesitation or wariness...

but sharpest is the sting of a bee,
jabbing with the bite of venom,
even as we attempt to find

serenity in its only death.

The End

0 comments about this work Feed