Pride,
it’s time I put you aside,
purge the mind of your advice,
put you back in the box Pandora.
Ambition breeds avarice,
a quart of desire multiplying rampant;
contagion ways of reckless abandon.
I’ll take these rags up,
let the Tatterdemalion roam,
perhaps the Tinsmith will share a jug,
imbue some wino wisdom
of abandon and troughs.
Or perhaps, the Ferryman can usher us home;
smiling as the Styx churns frothy,
sating Charon’s toll in humility.
Rust takes up residence
upon this ocher crown–
How the ambrosia goes wasted!
sops all over life lines.
Woe to those wicked sisters,
that fatalistic triumvirate
of yarn frayers and snippers—
if only numerals were the true prison.
No comments:
Post a Comment