Transitional Glories Of The Forlorn

Photo by Roberto Nickson on Pexels.com

Transitional glories of the forlorn
Where do we begin to find solace
Ancient cries of those forgiven
Trading a reckoning for eternal bliss

Standing high on a sailor’s mount
Searching for souls in which to confide
A bounty shall be easily & surely lost
Yet remaining steadfast with the coming tide

A Fine Suited Man With Terrible Inklings

A fine suited man with terrible inklings

Hands on her shoulders; easy to confide

Pouring drinks & erasing her sadness

Falling by the wayside with time & tide

Beauty is merely a natural configuration

Each button gone, an uncontrollable urge

His intentions told with a silent tongue

Embraced & now they lovingly merge