Shallow Hours

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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.

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