This cross mark of identity, staid lore
the last encounter, recognizing's score
memorable, the lost, the size of war
turnover my resolve, feeling's what for!
My holding on to being, rich or poor
the nights, the restless feeling, the encore
refuse the past, reopen some lost door
or verify concealing love's implore!
Turnover ~ nay, the spite of evermore
that ragged intercession, mentions for,
conventions sought revealing to restore
some archive, that congealing grave's deplore!
Now, life ~ a placid sealing, safety's shore
that as my hope, a timely art's concur
resumption of truth's will, convincing's hoard
does scatter with the wind, creating slur!
It is the youth's assumption, that false spore
that all is for their gumption, other's bore
and from the fallen gentry, not take oar
but gear for their resumption, more the more!
Turnover my fond reason to explore
this governmental treason, worth's revere
and that which represents me underscore,
lift higher, to the ceiling, vantage pour ~
and empty the deceiving . . . to the floor!
Copyright © Paula Larson | Year Posted 2014