Shallow Hours

In Shallow Hours, graves are dug By words morose, Their hollow powers seem mundane, But are much worse. Being Lonely in a crowded room, With empty words Muttered by survivors; Whose frosty breath in time, With second hand, Will still ones heart with breach of mind From gestures grand; So gentle souls as we, Will speak no more about it. This too shall pass as melancholy. Whispered mischief of the gods; The poisoned fruit of folly. As seasons run their course; Whose touch so coarse, Flow unrefined. A baking of our Maker's choice, Upon which we have dined. Too many courses chose Again, the Blackened Rose. Life without salience For such as those. Naked She, No longer seductress, Temptress to youth Our lives attempt atone. Experienced eyes, now show revealed; A Harlot to the bone. What drug could so impair? What game be more unfair? What beauty in beholder's eye, Less rare? False Gods flail. Chariot wheels on ipad screens In most minute detail. Now kiss your new God Soft upon His cheek And in a moment, through Alexa, He may speak.