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?