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His eyes drink up the sun,

Of his spirit there is none,

A timed capsule, done,

Waiting for the next run.

The climax of pleasure,

His soul it enthralls,

But after that measure,

Of wondrous fall,

Into temptation’s cave,

he knocks the door,

Either sanity to save,

Or to borrow more,

More youthful time,

That is not really his,

 To ignore the crime,

He himself inflicts.

There atone,

 Sorrow’s cheeks,

Lost and alone,

Where lovers meet,

There a dark place,

Insultingly staring,

His demon’s face,

Silently peering.

Peering, unfed, enraged,

Nothing to chew

Ignored and self-caged,

Of what he knew.

Atop an empty sable scene,

(O! If man but truly knew)

The moon in pity gleams,

His demon eyes of blue.A

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September 2019
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