Midnight's clock tocked
Its rampant nonsense
As the hounds yowling
As the brush rustling
It coo-coo bird charms
Not so enchanting
Upon this eve's vintage
It's a stalker's timepiece
How we track his --
Crazed craven progress
Meandering as perversions
Without restraints' graces.
If one could ever --
Call this progress
What he commits
We didn't know
What to call it
We've discovered
Justified terminology
After two years time
Within time's tide
We've found words
To tell its tale
To describe it
In beginning strokes
Of the expressive
Opus in motion.
We've rounded it off
And polished its edges
In analytical sweeps
It was always bound
To move this way
To be so defined
As what it is.
By Lady Lost
Copyright © 2002
All rights reserved
Library of Congress Copyright
International Copyright
No rights to copy, print, download, duplicate, or display elsewhere other than upon this specific website granted or implied without the direct written permission of the author. Please contact agent of the author: Mr. Gunther S. Vanludwick at svanludwick@yahoo.com
**As with all poetry, essays, correspondence and/or published letters, e-mails or other communications presented on this webpage, this poem is a personal subjective expression of its author's own feelings, thoughts, beliefs, and opinions. This statement is in no way intended to invalidate or minimize the powerful and poignant experiences of this author. However, this statement is intended to indicate that creative expressions such as these written forms of artwork are derived from their author's own personal feelings, thoughts, beliefs and opinions.
__________________________
__________________________