Shanghaied.

Blue skies,

high highs,

then it’s all gone…

Closed eyes,

finalized,

rendered solemn.

Shanghaied,

hogtied,

to the bottom…

Blindside,

decried,

bigger problems.

That’s right,

just might,

never solve them…

Surprised,

scandalized,

by the outcome.

Demoralized,

demonized,

a conundrum…

conceptualized,

verbalized,

begging pardon.

Wide-eyed,

falsified,

ever outdone…

Ill advised,

characterized,

by the pondscum.

Incentivized,

portentous lies,

drab skies darken…

Satisfied,

pacified,

black hearts harden.

The Word.

The curse,
of the poet,
was born,
in the tongue;
a thought,
turned to word,
and the damage –
is done;
the art,
of the sonnet,
has risen,
to fall down;
a truth,
trumpeted,
all the world,
around;
the words,
of a poet,
like grains,
of fine sands;
that scatter,
and remain,
wherever,
it lands;
a story,
still unfolding,
being written,
across the age;
each muse,
every trauma,
becomes another page.