Grasp Your Present
By: Ken Allan Dronsfield
Whatever forces upon the season,
perhaps tis you that are the reason,
the man of dark shadowed pallor
limps down a back lane to the cellar.
With help of an old-burled cane,
with such an unequivocal refrain.
The wispy glow of twilight's dawn
bears witness to the shuffling pawn.
A gauntlet fell from quivering hands
landing on the floor in dirt and sands
picking it up, I watched rainbows fly
as the lights echoed in a brackish sky.
Blink once for yes and twice for no.
thrice to answer behind a shadow
tears fall as your ears woefully bleed
in a vermillion hue, righteous of deed.
the soft muffled steps are unheard
during incantations of deedless words
mesmerizing twilight, catches my gaze
a lone cicada flutters in a stellar haze.
Waltz to a symphony of a supernova
perched on a branch now flying over
listless I rest in a disobedient blackhole
we grasp our present, a virtuous soul.
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