My Nonlinear Future 09. 08. 16

Some discrete, inconsequent thoughts haunt my essence
It tells on my poems, on my scrappy verse
The last was composed in the lack of complacence
And its flaws I simply don't want to rehearse

Quite weird... I invent with no haste and no hurry
Perhaps, to myself I make too high requests
My river's still calm and the night sky is starry
But my former skill neath the sand of time rests

It's late to show off and no vista for dreaming
The charm of my youth's turned to something reverse
Instead of the green hursts the poison marsh's steaming
And further on these lands will be only worse

I ne'er had respects for the toil of a peasant
I weened the pains ain't recompensed with the yield
But my urban living's become so unpleasant,
That I would escape just to work in the field

"The old man has dreamt out" - grown o'er by the thistle
Is my once mature soil and dead is my lea
In my life I've none to indite an epistle
To say the words stupid as "l pine for thee"

...The fall soon will let me return to the city
And this year shall leave on my heart one more seam
The trees will be golden, the girls will stay pretty
But such tempting beauty's no longer my theme

The woes may not kill but depress like asthenia
I worry and rack my mind harder than should
My present is sombre, my future's nonlinear
In any event it won't change to the good

So, what will remain after me but the fasti
And those signs which merely the horrors portend?
...My steps will be lost on the road - grey and dusty
And no soul shall know where my rhyme's found its end