30 December 2015


The stress’s blessed with picayune; o’ well 
you can pocket it & walk away - which isn’t 
like that fistful of promises, if ever believed 
possible that you’re made with receptacles 
to place them in being wet handkerchiefs 

It thus leaves you an egregious example of 
something you’d like to believe you are not; 
in testing truth of that - you’re what we’d’ve 
gotten used to as an epitome of what we’d 
avoid had we wielded the speakers chair 

And that’s not going to happen; it mayn't be 
the sinecure it was because you’d begun to 
believe in yourself as the point of reference 
which mattered - not what other’s decreed 

So an endgame was the aim, yet not crowd 
pleasing of its endless compromise - so we 
wobbled away with half of the prize tho’ still 
stressed by it - altho’ now able to sleep 

It’ll be at least a week before there is an in-
reality return to the signs of normalcy you’d 
dispute ever existed anyway; it’s previously 
a dream of just what you’d like it to be 
© 24 October 2015, I. D. Carswell