Here you are, back to beg pardon –
For it was apparent long ago,
Everyone could feel it.
Back then, when you were ghost-like,
Life seemed light and clear,
And the future seemed to fight the past
That overshadowed its awful companion.
That unmanly figure –
Changing over time,
Always defying your weak self,
Stealing what is not yours,
And it enjoyed being stolen.
It enjoyed it, for being stolen can be flirtatious.
It was odd, nothing bode well,
She was a luxury for an ephemeral man like whom you appear to be,
For this primitive bastard whom this gnarled soul has warned,
For a lady like herself, a chaff is what you must claim.
You walk like a bitch, panting
You see flowers and birds
and dare not prevent the inevitable.
She has nothing to dare prevent,
Except a multitude of the unmanly,
A sex of spite, with a dearth of acuity,
Which you lack in a way as much as they do !
Let them face it :
There is no chance,
You’re not awaited
You are though fated,
To remain in yore.
To walk alone ashore,
As selfish as you are dated.
Now, you are not walking the line –
Which I feel I am not too.
A dire destiny awaits us ahead.
Give me your hand,
And let us go see the odourless goddess.
As for the log-awaited word,
It shan’t be stated, for
You’re tolerated , though this is
a bit belated.