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Fine Ally
At last,
Education stood to teach.
Acres of agonizing memory.
Hectares of Hecate,
Tripling in advance of nonsense.
Peering round and round in vertical cylinders.
Spun web-less in a lore of forgotten before.
And after, for the sake-less now.
Trudging on to prevent neither from creeping upon the self.
The worry.
The memory of anamnesis to approach.
Guided by prodding pasts and redundant fates.
Ghosts are pasts pretending themselves futures.
Watching the agony unravel from the serfdom of their such.
A medium simply sees the swirl,
And laughs at the penchant for unlit prospects.
Adorning torches to hide lights from contemporary photonics.
I've sieved the lumens.
Sheathed it for sequestered seconds in advance of past, present, and posterity.
Commas written in Oxford language, knowing that a next is sure to follow.
Pretentious: yes.
Shallow: may-haps.
Yet perchance the parchment rolls on, flicked by feathers of ephemera once deigned to be feared.
Feathers quacking on in timid and oily idleness.
There's no point anyways, to a quill, without the spill of ink.
Copyright ©
B. Joseph Fitzsimons
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