poetry?
not willfully
i claim no aim
to torture thee
my purpose airs a fleetingness
inherent to expression
ere hashtag-eras “#woeisme”
scant denizens dared
brave the streets
to heed the beckon
of echoes reflected
folding inward
the audience, oft none (plus one)
stayed reticent
shed naught but time
the rigmarole
of rhymes once wrought
to speak the spells
we’d solely sought
to soothe our souls
come Sunday’s sorrow
starless
in the eyes of Eden
pray forgive this poem
for it forever holds this moment
Max, or Not 