Half-way Holiday Blues

[tectak]

edit 0.001 brownlie catches

Ennui, my fallen friend, I look on you as culture stares at clowns.
Plangent, hollow, bereaved by loss of any interest in life,
I plough the hot and leaden air to flip the sod, to plant the seeds,
but even as I breathe I sigh to watch the withered walk on by.
I'm bored.

This is the condemnation of the very soul I vouched safe mine;
no longer can I see the stars, nor reach up to the highest shelf
where only yesterday ( it seems) I placed my, oh what was it now,
and do I really give a damn?
I'm tired.

This state of things, this endless chasing of myself,
this terse foreshortened voice within no longer spins the golden flax,
no longer trans-mutates the words into a precious metal melt,
to pour into bejeweled moulds and by some alchemy succeed.
I'm lost.

So congregate around my pyre and light the only fuse still dry
that sputtering in sparking hope the last words left in this dank keg
will burst like sunfire into thunderheaded sky; thence to brand
inflamed, the granite stone above my happy head.
I'm born again.
tectak2013