In madness o’er the waning hour
that heaven vastly portends,
obscured by clouds that ominous lour
before the storm its force expends,
I drain the bitter cup of fate,
poured from dark casks of sin,
the harvest of my poor estate,
those barren fields I wandered in.
Before I down the final draught,
it seems à propos, however,
to suss the dregs in life’s hourglass
once more ere saying au revoir.
Our minds are poised in counterpoint
in bodies that are blessed
with a wine, from which two hearts are joined,
from vintages of love expressed.
The nearer we approach the goal,
the less worthy we seem.
We see the tarnish on the soul
and miss the once familiar gleam.
The dead are more alive than we,
for we have yet to die.
We still await death’s guillotine,
while they lounge in Champs Elysées.
BIO– Matt Flumerfelt was born in Oswego, NY, played trumpet for 4 years in the Navy Band in Naples, Italy, and San Francisco. He graduated Valdosta State University with a BA in English, studied classics at the University of Georgia, and has published several books of poetry and philosophy, including a verse epic re-telling the story of Hercules,and can be purchased below
