Waning Is - What? Parody Robert Browning - Wanting Is – What? Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Waning is – what?
Profaning a lot:
Explaining how what
far more often than not
starts with vow which cannot
be maintained daily lot
fails to script life’s plot,
surrenders to plot.

Pipe-dreams redundant, darkness abundant,
ambitions ascendant become wraith dependant,
former incumbent forever recumbent,
faith once resplendent turned guilty defendant.

Love tommy-rot - a copybook blot,
which forever cannot be held more than a shot
in the dark – hellfire hot – for the sage or the sot:
she without gold or a stain, bride sans spot,
he, the lout cold, for her bane tied the knot.
One who with century flirted, God wot!
Tot who knew never lease longer than cot.
all who swapped tokens termed forget-me-not –
too soon rot forgotten by Time on the trot

Barmy, the world, draws a blank all the same, -
framework stands empty of picture to frame:
what will remain but an entrybook name
to witness the waning of man’s aim for fame.
What of the leafage, what of the flower?
Spring’s promise burns sere, roots winter turns sour.
Blossom’s a mirage maintained lasts for an hour
then fades into shadows and shades as its power
from zenith to nadir falls, tumbling life’s tower, -
grave is its consequence, grave is its dower!
Come then, complete incompletion,

O comer, -
pant through the blackness, awaiting the number!
Breathe but one breath,
Rose- beauty above.
All oozes death -
while emptiness, awning, bears witness to warning
upon the mind dawning, - redemption’s stillborn in
a morning of mourning where Reaper turns scorning
scythe onto tithe torn from platform of pride.

Ride is out for the count, crop cropped lovelorning,
stark fall sows, - all grows dark,
mark stray dogs which straw bark
as caravan passes, returns not, alas is
the wanting which life stitched, by death unencumbered, -
hark, nothing dumber!

Born, lips
life sips,
sand drips,
scale tips
pale slips
tale snips
sail dips,
midships
beat skips,
corn clips -
roots rips,
shorn, slips –
gone grips, -
kinship’s
lorn lips.
sand drips.

Waning Is - What?
Summer redundant,
Blueness abundant,
Where is the blot?
Beamy the world, yet a blank all the same, -
Framework which waits for a picture to frame:
What of the leafage, what of the flower?
Roses embowering with nought they embower!
Come then, complete incompletion,
O comer,
Pant through the blueness, perfect the summer!
Breathe but one breath
Rose-beauty above.
And all that was death
Grows life, grows love,
Grows love!