Ah, the sweet, smooth and sound past,
Like wine uncorked and drunk so fast,
With sweeter chimes of happier notes,
With bitter blots for known undertones,
Can only suffice the effect one sitting,
This drink of my past is mere bloodletting,
Leave it. Leave it. Go away. The past. Go.
The wine. The bottle. The glass. Throw.
Every drop of wine becomes blood vanquished,
I sit here and dream of past relinquished,
The beast within is the angel above,
The demon is the answer to my resolve,
Give me more, the past I need it more,
However I drink it, let me be so sore,
Weep me more and I’ll linger around.
Don’t wait for me: happiness resound,
Nor let my tender tears keep you here,
Lest my finger droops in empty glass near.
In harness waits crawls my saviour wrong,
And then the illness bespokes me long,
The past. The past. So fast. So fast.
Walk like a king, walk away. Away, now,
Enter new hobbies for more they allow,
If theophany is not your forte. It is now.
Behold thyself in this mirror ere you bow,
This is you. This is who you are today,
Away with the past. It’s gone and is done,
Now with its conclusion comes wink and pun.

Life, Poetry, Works
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