Wind Bourne Change Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

On Fall's crisp breeze
come thoughts deceived
dazed eyes glance upon
one face as friend or foe
One's bestowed ideals
once graced of providence
lay buried beneath troves path
silence flees the known
its blithe circumstance hidden
behind that closet closed
turning to that lichen skein
tome's page in mournful mute...
Time's storied sage alone stands
garbed grey in silent stone
life's hard browed toss unfurled
living's loss, behold a future hosed
Pages turned in sorrows dreads
words within are life unread
confusion reigns supremely so
until fate's leaf is burned…
Within the lines that story
spells out heart and mind unturned
time's tact toward truth's direction fixed
unknown is where it flows
mix facts and life's friction spoils
the ballades unconscious jest
leaving chance soiled and beauty spurned...
Rests well does this inciting feud
farewell to breath's calm
all hail deceptions fog
intrigues and dreams steam dour palaver
tunes resound the heart beats cry
nest as crypt we question why
claims made compose this tide
under it this calm now fades
sapient moods distill mind's tragedy
of thought is time forewarned...
Glimpse depth in your soul's fragility
in any case, of and in a smile
the flying arrow's edge is honed
begird to logic, the weak resist
towards strength they fear to flow
shadows slay the mind's inquisitive
that rush drawn of stoical depth
from all hope that incessantly burns...
Stride steely then in steady steps
escape the clutch of a profound postulate
allow your ephemera its deafening churn
reveal tritely an expose' or image trimmed
grope free those pesky percolating thoughts
which stain the strands of future's learning curve...
Fates shift beyond one's graying hair
exposing to view a smile and yellowing teeth
teasing waste life's parable steps
what was least became the most to need
Humor was and is the gift to each
laughter a serfs one saving grace
enlightenment too, by its backlit shade
chagrin's toothy twin and so twofaced
Through trial of life one's stationed sacrament
coincidental twists as tides slowly seep
or flood, depending solely on the ides
waste then is truly folly fully blamed
upon it, life lived is still a Parthian game.