Four Quartets

Walk through the maze in cryptic lines, Heed tensile will in odd strange words; Attend the craze where thoughts incline, Bear scraps of meals in echoes heard. All in sure time the vital space, Garden to play with childhood dreams; Innocence rhymes in frolic's face, Unfurl harsh ways in shady themes. Here in these woods know lost and found, The broken means in weary dust; Pain answers good in dreary grounds, Confused the scene in patchwork trust. Evolve in parts the jigsaw strange, Raw edges hurt in form and fire; Gone are the hearts that die deranged, Dust follows dirt in sad attire. All out of sync these pictures odd, No one can tell reason to fit; Nonsense can link a logic sought, Yet no one dwells to final fit. Too much the pains of constant wear, Harsh times speak out to stir old wounds; Salt on cuts stain that pain that tears, The crushing shouts in the last noon. To be or not is all in vain, The story runs in circles round; Sense is forgot in acid rain, No wit or pun can alter grounds. Meaning beyond sense attempts meaning, Corrupt this world that clings to dust; Yet style pretence in blurry things, Sight in a swirl still apes bleak trust. Here lost is found in ancient grounds No need to reach for unknown highs; Cryptic feels sound where light sifts round, Sense time to ditch those frightful sighs. Leon Enriquez 06 May 2015 Singapore