Wile's Harvest Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

Dusting shelves, packed end to end,
tomes' passed beyond citation;
doodles drawn on thinking's dawn,
encomium, to victory's stationer;
gathering's slur, a brutal truth,
closeted Id perceives life's bifurcation;
dialogue duplicates thought,
trolling inside the mindless vacationer

Mind wanes sans wit,
spat shrieking one's proverbial superlatives;
averting self's view,
impassiveness reflects living's insipid conative;
ataxic proof,
life's rhythm, sententious hackneyed tirades acerative;
palpitations pound rhyming pulse,
future's theme, enate iterative!

Blinding obscurities, bleed life's core,
what meaning one's loquacity;
meshuga, thinking the future wrong,
why then spew forth nugacity;
crepuscular vision, self's rigour,
hips swish to society's sequacity;
saeculum, now deemed minutia,
livings just surrealistic opacity!

Living's illusion, reflects life's aleatory,
joy and grief intrinsically bound;
voracity rules rulers' consciousness,
fractured tierce lay inward bowed;
impendent indubious entente cordiate,
unaware the sigint's boundary;
infuscation, realization's furrowed frown,
one arrha, presaged beyond.

Tongue's thought,
well spoke delights soon deceive each mortal being;
twist, ensuant societal ossification,
individualism as constant, ebbing;
espiaille, one's innermost self,
that youth long forgotten beaming;
sui generis, wile's harvest let,
mind's consummate unwinding obeying.