Anguished Vision
I will not be a fading man
of tired words, yearning lost places.
I've cultivated city streets
and paved the desolate forests,
the passing visions of strangers,
the wandering cries that deny rest,
sing sleepless nights of twisted hopes,
that plague will spare our greedy land,
as it's carried by fur creatures
rushing to be coats for seniors,
their shabby banner of protest
the sad flush of expectations,
passing the days like wringing hands
fluting each other in despair,
blind to the moment of conquest
that squanders dawn's deliverance.
