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You’ve No Power Here

The glass misted over,
But that’s not entirely right
It was a more liquid remorse
That bedewed my lensed sight

She had borne my child
But she couldn’t bear me
Seems 8-balls and feng shui
Aren’t long together friends-to-be

Another dark winter passing
Cold fronts, love chill, and lost friends—
In the negative balance amassing:
All aspiration to the living Nature bends

Where is our Episode IV New Hope,
In reconciliation or masked medicines?
A new maturity is whispered for and called upon—
Can we but rise up above all these civil venal sins?

Digital Sith and Jedi return to the nursery;
All illusion is dead, what’s to become of me?

Morninglory

So, well…yes
I suppose, I must confess
That I’m just a single simpleton
Never a race I have entered have I won
Not even a single one
Not one
But, once upon a time:
I shall venture with this little rhyme
(Or, maybe a true life’s story)
Of a friend aurora’d in golden glory—
Shall we call her Morninglory
OK then, M’glory
Twas in the frozen North,
Anchoring away such and so forth,
I chanced to follow a fellow swabbie into a shop
Where hot hip transfers are pressed onto one’s top
And oh, my heart did stop—
Full stop
Alas, of course, such a joy couldn’t last
As it happens: the many-many years have passed:
Morninglory had her own full Life’s path to travel,
As I sailed after green seas and trod flat rutted gravel,
Witnessing some dreams coarsely unravel,
Bang, the gavel
Now, upon these here internets
Where youngish oldies can place new bets,
Allowed I was to restart with a believed spent story
And became friends again with my Morninglory—
Never again to be sorry,
Never sorry
So, a Winter wish to all readers of this raggedy rhyme, and so-so story,
That your wishes come true and you again find your own Morninglory