Wax Lyrical

Whither the poet? He's gone somewhere
In the vast and great land of the bull, now the bear
Far from his home and the people who care
Lone figure in the darkness cutting solitaire

Nursing fresh wounds the poet limps through the hall
Waxing lyrical of the irony that doom should befall
In the stillness of night, the loud silence appalls
Flight, then a sprint, then a jog, now a crawl

Walk on, says the poet, as he gets off the floor
The soul screams in protest, but he walks all the more
Reassembling the harness of confidence he wore
Praying for the numbness so his feet stop feeling sore

What comes for the poet as the new dawn unfolds
Seemingly warmer and brighter than the one of old
Will it bring despair as the wise ones foretold
Or thaw and disperse the ice and the cold?

saysaysay
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