Author: Max Meunier

sentiments in repetition meant to vent with relevance
relinquish the varnish that tarnishes the vulgar tolerance
commence with imminence the absence of antiquity
for quaint acquiescence is an obsequious acquaintance
ubiquitous as though it may be, acclimation clings aloof
from roof to mountaintop rounding up with rallied cries
rising echoes sound of silent sorrows soon to beckon
why then try, as troubadour or rube of high demeanor
dubious depictions dangle like truths that fall no more
musing angles by which this ruse might inflict less feeling
stitching loosely by light revealing conflicts of duress
stealing strength from respite choosing no less than languish
eventual sediment in secluded stasis embracing lost artifice
weaved words of wont whimsy will quell this wells depths
in diligent delineations of dreary dreamscapes divulged

drawn out days of titian settling
the era’s closure drawing near
awkward affections shared passing
would soon become passion entwined

distant horizons of arid liquescence
ever eluding the focus we sought
erred, the inherent aplomb, never fathoming
fears since forsaken in faith fueled fires
torrential tirade, your era so golden
impressed in the brood of its wake

heartache bore into lavender walls
awaiting the moment with you in my arms
where were your words so wont to wax in wallow
how hollow the home of the world I had known

the dance of days that deceived us
the tumulted spires of spectacle
that stood to make valid the toil
our turmoil in vain

wading in waning , awash of the waters
where once we found cleansing

the wraith of your suffering
resigned us to this disavowed closure

this fragmented filament could forge in fine temperance
but vanity’s deference reigns
trudging through deconstructed dreams
razed of the memories maimed
unceremoniously unraveled
with unrelenting