I feel you… closer than ever, that creep-crawly way of yours
always draggin’ you… closer. That scent on the wind, and I taste you,
anticipate you, and all that screaming you’ll do.
Oh come now, you always knew
that’s where we’ve been
It takes its toll, that driving need, that fermenting seed,
that mindless deed. Why my handsome steed, I see how weak in the knees,
how slick in the disease, you’ve become. Out-strung, and yet still unwrung.
Like there’s not much more song to be sung
but you’ve hardly even begun.
But these… these are the days of miracle and splendor,
and it’s time you became that contender
that you so eloquently engender. Before time marks you-out as just a pretender…
provender made of yesterday’s news…
a lovely, yet antiquated muse.
© Odyne La Fée 2018