A long time seeing,
Grappling for the art,
To better deem the art,
Spoiling and yet cradling
A handful of flowers.
An ever persuasive dream,
To originate.
And suffering seems so placed,
To unfurl the deception.
Yet further, known to dream,
Is the widower.
Her regret -
Cusping hands around
Shadows of vulgarity.
Have my eyes now shown,
The pensive apple,
Yet to drop?
My dearest idol yet to accost?
Which mindspace delineates
And refrains from the example?
Causation - there’s never enough castration!
I say this pensive,
As I wonder how common it is,
For ones decadence swings out.
Only, to swing right back.
Say, make a pledge for dignity,
Grace, humanity, equal rights.
And the self same grimace,
Suggests a lie,
For the mutinous apparelled,
At ‘top’ mast -
The inbred Nazi’s
And their kingdom thrones.
So as I jig my way starboard,
Am I still yet
To call the creepier out,
For their dearer trade?
Just my adjacent relatives,
Dancing fish in Top prat.