The Cavalier; The Callow

And that’s the end, oh wretched zealots,

sun-ravished radishes, sunken eyed, candy-

dipped falchions, the end of ripped blades

stepping steppes towards the millions, of

sanctified sinners plastered in pools, of

morning dew wetter than the tides of ides,

of night air respite, saturated jungle rings,

the end of phantoms’ clamorous pines,

each ogre a sight, painted in duds clasp

clapped, frowning for the rain, nodding

about their risks, woe to you, but this is

but the beginning, the beginning of new

deaths, of trees sapped and sapping fair,

of leaves chrome, so true and wispy, of

whimsy and horizons, of stout, of ports

o’ plenty, shrouding wind, beauty: it’s man,

and in the crowd you’ll still look high, to

the next missive, when we hide inside and

remember the last, and hold hands and

watch it all come, and when it arrives,

the path paining me with every passing

day, I’ll be here, ready to sing the next’s

pithy praise, dressed in slacks, holding

the sick air inside, ready with my word,

ready to ride the heat like a board towards

greater nights, smiling for your heart,

aiming to see you again, always next

Advertisements

~ by Shawn M. Young on September 13, 2018.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: