When my feelings rage, boil to seethe strong
Corrosives inside I am rendered wanton weak
'Tis why when thither and hither you belong
I fret, fault and fail the art to act else speak
Of dead poets, troubadours and lonely lovers
Works dressed and addressed to beauty daunting
A tangled web woven by subtle hands hovers
In clouds of caskets Portia's eye keeps eluding
My heart flutters pinned at the post this flower
And lumps fall in my throat that I clear to strut
And I assail my solace in that shadowed hour
Whence my eye is narrowed at that same spot
My mouth drops at that bay my lungs closed
My world rotates at the spine unsteady raised
2022©Aɓį MąƦįą AღąƦų
©abimaria
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