Remote Doting

there are no words
left to summon
once the mind surrenders reason

hearts succumb
in paper prisons
pining to be freed from treason

in this realm
of false ideals
we gaily taunt such daunting perils

sipping poison from the petals
trapped in penned epistles puerile

peppering the pages
ghostly voices
neither here
nor there

staring off into the wintry
void of whims most cavalier

waiting on a stranger’s rescue
with a somber song in tow

onward, through the shrouded garden
guided by a light unknown

vision hindered by such tender words
arrived from worlds away

crafted with astute precision
love inferred by lone hearts splayed

risking all despite the chance
of falling into false endeavor

blighted by promised romance
a fool is naught but fraught forever

Author: Max Meunier

Feminist. Ailurophile. Musician. Poet. Human.

3 thoughts on “Remote Doting”

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