This Year
THIS YEAR
What folly of the dreamer
half asleep – full sated
to become prophetic schemer
of a future yet undated
ingesting meals yet to be plated.
How daft the followers in kind
mewing in his shadow
feeding from his empty mind
on bones devoid of marrow
adrift in fantasy’s tomorrow.
Thus as the season’s shadows fade,
as age creeps ever closer near,
how much of living will we trade
for empty dreams no longer clear
slow tarnished in the passing year.
1/2/2015
submitted to This Year in English Quintain – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Francine Roberts
Copyright © John Lawless | Year Posted 2015
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