Whether there, nor here, a leak so sore,
And whirling through the ages past is gone,
And musing can it not shine light once more,
These steps he ought to walk before they run,
A smoothing sound, a familiar sound he rose,
Now breathes an air ill-fresh, nisc, contrite,
Ere all the life he once he had is gone to pose,
Seemingly in the dark, hidden in memory to fight.
The hours roll by, as always, by day and week,
He forgot the life he once had in a near-gone past,
Like a scent, these memories had succumbed so weak,
To gather a perfume, to shade a natural scent fast,
So that none would wonder where he is come to where,
Thus is ought to say he’s simply that from where he is,
This rapid change of constant revision as a train fare
When no one notices, then freezes at such remarked fizz,
It all seems a distraction he thinks, and no one cheers,
The western parts fared better, but it’s all gone now,
Now he says he’s back where he was, like all those years
Of seeking and hoping, come sought and hope for now,
Is stability brought, but yearns for unstable fraught,
Let me fall again! Just so I know I live, he says,
But no time is come than ill-got of present thought,
So when he’s finally that, then he knows his ways.

 

niesc = short form for omniscient

Category:
Life, Poetry, Works
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