thee who withers to obtain senility
invites tear, cries out, the light, the shame.
if to squeeze in what may bleed, believe,
but will observe, subserve, and face rule to deliver.
know not in what falls beyond sagacity,
a propensity which mollifies pleasure, eternal.
behold discovery and evanescence, again,
appurtenant… truth and pain.
the sustenance that’s breath, blithe, not broached,
survives then, and, within. plunging toward discord
and insidious entrapment, assuaged by atavistic
instinct, cordiality, and a strange sense of reverie.