Missive 2

The hate of time havocs foolish fate And I, no one's blank slate Will not my conscience hesitate Or cast my eyes down at evening's gate. You are neither victim nor demon since You of your error is unconvinced I am a child no more to wince When white sheets of mind befouled are rinsed I make my decisions without the noise And cheap popularity's phony poise But as humble I'd fear forfeit a sunrise And have fool graffitied on unlighted eyes. I have tried picking up time before The past like frost from hoar Had only present, and memory more Than spite makes every pain a spore