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Nhloe Varforth Poem
So August comes to its soporific twilight
and furtively stares at September,
stance indulged in reassuring ataraxy
August blinks
September earns
September, bearing its comely plethora of dulcet promises
Woe, those of August
For it is fugacious and dalliant
Woe, September, mocking the children of August with its desuetuded and dissembled comeliness
But reap not your earnings of despair, children
All is August demure and dallaint
It will return again, and again
"And so on?"
And so on.
"Why?"
Denouement
Copyright © Nhloe Varforth | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Nhloe Varforth Poem
The dust stand in devoted pair
with stare towards the brush and it's fare
devotion despairs
the dust sighs
the brush forfeits
they surrender
Alas all but in an instant
so is no victory reaped
so is earning molted from the tears and given to dust
But they neglect despair
for there is hope in humour
and the comatose lie a restless slumber
for their anew that bravely implore the void-less dark
"Their slumber is beautiful. Voiceless"
So it is, dear Moon
"Why?"
Because their slumber has a twilight
"For it is not eternal"
For beauty is but a dalliance.
"Ephemeral"
Copyright © Nhloe Varforth | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Nhloe Varforth Poem
They are many things
Defeat
Broken and decrepit
They flinch
The hefty earned the sky
It croons
That there is no beauty
Therefore there is no admiration
There is no inspiration
"There is only Reason"
They lament
But the land is not despaired
For it is but art
The sky sighs
The white extols
The sky moults a tear of its garden
The anew grows yet still groan
The sky scoffs
They do all but presently despair
For no despair is reaped in these lands
And no hope is sewn in these lands
Harmony
Dearest moon.
Copyright © Nhloe Varforth | Year Posted 2016
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