My appetite's destroyed.
My lust for life, decayed.
My body soon can meet my soul,
in spiritual parade
- long time coming, stranger.
At last we meet, at least.
At least let's have some pomp
and circumstance. At least,
let's follow where she leads.
I knew that girl, beforelives, man,
She's got a swell baton.
I'd follow her past hell and gone.
We never met down here. We don't believe
in soulmates, now, so much less Valkyries.
And so we die in battle, unselected, on our knees.
It's clear there's something wrong:
it's everything they ever gave us to believe.
The game: is rigged, by being not a game,
unruled, unrefereed. At least let's have
some pomp and circumstance,
A chance to stand,
break down, and tell who's left:
you were this life. This world,
A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years. Try the RANDOM button to sample the sometimes surprising breadth of quality (and in several Novembers, breathtaking quantity as well), or click the "ANY GOOD" label* for those poems labeled with it. On any poem, old or new, feel free to offer your remarkable insight or critical acumen.
*I haven't yet revisited many pockets and stretches of time to appraise and label the "any goods," so some are missing. Please feel free to point out omissions, or - especially - erroneous inclusions, in comments.