How often not the sands of time indulge
In stolen heartbeats 'pon the moonlit shores,
Forever pleading seasons to divulge
Their open minds cast far against the core.
Seek refuge in the gentle, calming storm?
Wreak havoc on our ever mourning tongues?
Are these the questions posed in sacred form,
To make the breath return through barren lungs?
Unkempt are chances left for which we seek,
To better lives and judgement; to receive
A wand'ring, empty, soul-less body: meek,
Is what would be more easy to believe.
So bitter are the rules by which we live,
And die for which the hope we rarely give.

Thank you for taking the time to enter. Excellent work and I wish you the best of luck in my contest.

Laura

s ~Genie~

. It can't be doubted, you completely comprehend the art of Scansion. I'm glad to see that you're still putting it to use.




Take Care 






23 old applause
