A Rekindled Thought

Loathsome britches blankets the snow-driven piles

of unknown futures end

But do they count the cost

of the lives lost

where the rain soaked moss

filters down depths still to this day unfathomed.


But perhaps there’s a way out of the

coal fire stove’s whimsical rapture

that it plays to itself

while stalking the cars parked

in the crosswalk.


It wouldn’t be an obvious solution.

Many have invested far less to

tell the tale untold until now


But, at least, for the sake of blowing it’s top

the seagulls and eagles, parapets of doomsayers.

Yes, all of these once spoken of toward yesterday’s doom

will wander no more

and declare themselves sore

when they finally bequeath themselves of the room.


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