Elegy to a Poet

Insanity flew back unto the synaptic cage

Alighting upon the swinging gate

 

While seeds of yore – envelope into a growing rage...

Fly; fly away before it’s too late.

 

The wind’s turmoil circled into the room

Pivoting along the delicate walls

 

Between sleep’s rest and the mares of doom

Stratifying beyond the window palls.

 

The house of wry reasons and depressions

With transcending levels of shrillness

 

Connect mother’s black impressions

And explain the altar boy’s stillness.

 

Words gather in long lines of prose

Waiting for the proper place and time...

 

To speak of a blue sky and a red rose

Held by the mourners at the death of rhyme.