Elder States

Polluted tadpole

Cracked and distilled

Jupiter’s child upon

Rings of clay

                  Cantankerous curmudgeonly

                  Broken, record scratches back at

                  The muse.

                  All the while,

                  The repetition reminds us of

                                             Gyrations affixed

                                             Upon sticks of lunar might be

                                             Ribbons of deranged hypotheses

Of forgiveness

Alone, a light

To match, the strike

Of promiscuity away,

From Ecclesiastic rage—where shadows

Meant for the naïve, those wanderers unattended to,

Not intended for, beacon the wayward star-struck, structures

Divulged of both ether and fidelity

So sad, at this, twilit, late stage of night

Where pine promotes its eternal scents,

And the odor of stagnancy,

Fragrances prophetic foreshadow

Wafting amongst unsympathetic heirs

…And the sound, it sounds a little less familiar,

Than how it ought to, as the timeline trails.

Another Tuesday, Another Open Link Night. I Love Tuesdays and if you enjoy poetry you should too.  Head on over to D'Verse, check out some great poetry and share one of your own.  The Pub opens at 3.