Slumber slides. Rock on.
The Sun declines in purple gold.
Anilla rings a silver moon
Drowning umbra bleak so cold.
Precious stones: set sadly.
Rain wets and slicks the gin,
Peat smolders on, returns to mould.
Patina rings a wasted soul
Drowned by its lethargic fold,
Precious lives used badly.
Of a sort to stretch the brain.
Placated demon. Close the feel-good.
Arrest that loop. Stupefy linguistic.
“And when you let the Sun in mind
It wipes its feet.” The choral.
Turning back a life to lose
The muses laugh. You were screwed.
Its all a pun, said it so bold.
Caught with your trust degraded,
Frantic to gain loss faded.
Quite the preposterous icon,
Vain, hopeful and forlorn.
A joke, a bit of a lark, a turn-on
And now its over: not yet born.
A womb bereft. And torn.
Promises! What promises?
The chance was there. You lost it.
No second try. No damp regrets.
The starting gun you never heard.
The stars laugh on and twinkle.
Choke on, perfidious grape.
Celebrity not social: try to ape.
Lost cause, life’s petty joke has won.
Creamed off before it had begun!
Still, stars laugh on and twinkle.