We are ill!
Our bodies are rotting away
From myriad years of neglect;
Our vim is gone.
...
Rummaging through
Subconscious archive
I stumble on distant
Memories of foretime,
...
Like fallen flowers
On trodden villainous path
Unwholesomely mercied at
Whims of cruel fate's feet,
...
As darkness embraces
What light left behind,
And pall settles over
Our optical pieces,
...
Muffled Voices
We are ill!
Our bodies are rotting away
From myriad years of neglect;
Our vim is gone.
We need a surgeon to succour
Our suppurating sores.
We are ignorant,
Enmeshed in folly
We need a philosopher,
Noblest of men,
With wit
Surpassing the crowd's
To counsel us aright.
We are a herd
Scattered about
The herdgroom slumbers away
After his fill of victuals.
Oh we are lost at sea!
Come to us great captain
And ferry us ashore.