Message To Pages, Sages & Wedges Poem by John Sensele

‘I'm done, I can't run any more', comes a scream
From the South where a mouth tired of desire
To cross a stream, to toss to a moss or to voice the loss of a dream
Once aspired for, once on fire

Fanned, scanned, tanned in a name
Once thought to bounce and trounce ounces
In pounds on grounds and sounds though the same
Differ in offers they confer on dances

That ingested, digested and suggested more
Lay behind displays on days
When bores on the fore could snore
Pretending and sending messages to sages and pages whose ways

Once considered so dormant, divergent and dull though pretty on the surface
Advocated and dislocated social structures
Once deemed to grace the face
Insanity in its innuendoes and intents fractures.