Loreless

No passion, nor remission, nor submission is my mission since I had made my decision to move on and lead.

No more a guest be my label, nor could some jest hence enable me to perch round that same table as those solemn few.

I came as a child whose vision of our mad world cleaves incision, like an elder who envisioned what future brings.

For consciousness cut within me, swirling sorrows churned akin he whose own madness had bewitched we to wait on his steps.

The golden knob of his oak door, emboldened dog on his cold floor, anxiously I shall wait no more, no more on such lore.

So, I creep away as winds’ whispers sway astray this outsider whose sole tale is not of avail.

Yet the road I sought was broken, debrided rubbles bared no token of an axiom seldom spoken, lies mixed in like flies.

So a pathway faint and faded, was my walkway, quaint and fabled, like an old poem whose sole label was fictitious bore.