I, in my life abundant, thought
To seek and did seek with diligence
Found in few, and found anew a pundit
Categorically mad with all insolence
About a life proper and saddened by dull
Listless washings of days beating
Blueish white, dying against the hull
Of a great ship with soft resign.
He yelled of walking calm sidewalks
Rolled out before green lawns so still
Only the silent hum of dandelion bees lowly
Wandering did suggest that they were real.
“Where are people, life and death, struggle
For another breath, where is flutter
Of love’s wing, butterfly of life’s trouble
Staccatoed in ebullient stuttering.”
“Where do knife and menance coil, before
Exploding forth to challenge for existence.
How, in such sullen stasis, can dreamer dream
A dream of heart’s beat with any wild insistence.”
Grinding further against his mind, a grey wheel
Turned the mill and out flittered calm absolution.
“Aghast at ambient solemnity of no real or further
Resolution, it’s a mystery; a kind of temple prostitution.”