Agony

The pleasing sun of the evenings cool, Nauseating the pores of skin deep down, With absorbing cool-headed passion, For the earthly pastime, friendship. Aging mud-stained aroma of cold waters, Mingled with a pinch of sweat and toil, Pouring forth splashes, the sparkles of joy. For the body and the tired mind. I know thee not, nor thy meditation, For service to another, then another, Or the truth in the virtues Of your scorn for the uncultured. The pangs of unethical hunger in us, Often cling to the distorted and the ugly; Remaking life livable? again anew; Within the lures of youthful freedom. Aren’t we enchanters of the worse kind, Erecting the dreamers choices, In another world, into another’s horizon. Life then is a shame and silence, becomes truth.