A Twilight Paradox
Don’t punish
Or criticize too severely
Or discard
The following follies that disintegrate
Your respectfully fine perceptions of
The seniors who surround us
As their images are injured and killed
In these underground passages:
They lie in absentminded
Deterioration- charming,
But the large fissures and gaps that appear
Spook us with their enormous size-
Alas, they are too golden to feel the grief…
Where they were once rugged and turbulent
They are now fractured and sedate.
They live in lethargic, inebriated,
Docile, expiring worlds,
Dwelling in the common beginnings of
Pomposity and decorum
In a gilded waning splendor
Claimed by right of antiquity,
Acquiring exquisite tastes and holdings
In a vast squandering
In their dimming days…
It is now that a new-found appetite for the lucrative
Afflicts them.
They may occasionally confess to it
In long-winded displays
Of receding absurdities...
You deserve a shorter explanation.
The real truth merits unmitigated anger from their former selves
Who trod the paths so carefully
Only to now witness
Their total abandonment
And utter ruin
In their farcical procession of pious larceny,
While finding scapegoats in the rabble around them who are
Pillaging the inner sanctums
Of their wanton opulence
That is so perturbing yet alluring.
Such is the reward for a lifetime of prices paid
To egotism that prevails and rules
Even into their progressive numbness and sluggish courage.
Feeble yet bombastic,
Wretched elder citizens of public depravity
Muddling through the booty,
Sticking a hand in the large meaningless cavity of life
And pulling out an oath, a covenant,
A pact with the devil
For one last stately feast of debauchery and cravenness
Before dirt is shoveled over their portly oddness
And buries them once and for all
With their grotesque fabrications
That were brought on by the first age spots
In their twilight paradox.
What’s this?
My first age spot?
Ah, I am ready to die.
Let the music begin!
wbiro
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