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that lonely lad’s
        deserving fates
            now come at last
    but much too late
one gentle heart
        beats full of love
            still, no one feels
    that’s worthy of
their admiration
        thoughts or time
            and thus he’s left
    to barter rhymes
delivering phrase
        dreams arbitrate
            life’s feelings, be
    they love or hate
it’s nothing special
        just these thrums
            his lover’s dreams
    as kingdom comes
and so folks fawn
        o’er what he pens
            while deep inside
    those bitter ends
the bloody words
        then let as phrase
            shall clot in pools
    with empty days
for all that purge
        his scribbles find
            is washed like ids
    or muddled mind
and crafting prose
        that coaxes sighs
            births, deep within
    his slow … demise.



Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, August 13, 2017; rewrite, August 27, 2022

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