err, a delicious might.
When it causes you to see good sight.
As the Madness is a good thing.
When you cease from its suffering.
in the ebbs and flows and seasons.
So is fate to reel to and fro past the reasons.
As Love is no higher calling.
though apart you are falling.
then only to arise.
at hatreds demise.
to succumb to the loneliness of dissidence.
to a higher but low parlance.
feeble the knees, exuberant the dance.
None to thrust in to with the lance.
but perhaps, the greatest defense is the truth of the heart.
To arise again more luxurious than the last.
and yet Still sad, God's sense of funny.
how obvious is that.
©Pat Connor
P