poetry = nonsense
nonsense = meaninglessness
meaninglessness = void
void = nothingness
nothingness = spirit

a lustrum years a million tears a wyrmling’s touch a heart doth pierce threescore moons on quiet afternoons a memory, remembrance of heart that swoons diverged, mine lyf awei from thee, wyf to discover me anew with opportunities rife my love for thee prevails whilst hapless memory fails but finished I am become, with quixotic pursuits and holy grails adieu my friend may’st thou one day wed thine heart pure sugar be fed and flaxen winters find a better man in my stead [20 VI 2020]
Copyright © 2011 Erick Calder
All Rights Reserved
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