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
Copyright © Leon Enriquez | Year Posted 2015
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