If Thunderbolts Clinch and Pinch My Gold

If streams of my dreams should screech to a halt Inside a smart heart gone stone cold Enabling losses, mosses and tosses to unleash the thunderbolt That with no iota of care clinches and pinches my gold In addition to writing off prospects of recovery From a bruising encounter I deem harsh And if my heart should make the discovery That scratches from a branch of love should smash Points of view held dear and clear in my avatar I’d beg to excuse fuses grown short In contests driving a harsh bargain on a far flung star Whose flight should crush every effort I muster to master emotions swirling and whirling inside My heart whose beats betray the certainty That the future no longer cossets the pride sauntering astride Past and present, hope and despair, humility and vanity I should gladly fly my clout and doubt docket Away from the business as usual model To reinvent and reengineer my love rocket And glide, ride and slide slowly but surely to the citadel Where my sanity free of a stricture straitjacket Should direct and resurrect immense possibilities To recover the gold stolen from folds of the jacket Stalking veneers and facades whose fragilities Awaken the sleeping lions whose roar Breaks the autonomy and monotony Discernible from the unexpected uproar My riposte raises in protest against gregarious gluttony.