Poem for Tamira: Off Course

Off course

Years of close, sudden morose.  Years of lanced pride and pain.

There is a booming voice, treble dose, worse in hills’ slide and gain. I have seen

What must become, undone, unsung. This is G-d’s truth. You can’t be the same

Plain as rain, distain, in vain…

I have no bitter, it stings in glitter, its banter rather, (grant it father), is cheapened in distanced strain

I have no recourse, this whittled voice, I can’t regard the refrain. And so the loss -of man off course, remorse, endorse and whither as sure as there was Cain.


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