wisdom of a derelict.

with tiny bites of soft
the kitten, less ferocious
the lion roared
as she ascended
the spiraling wooden staircase

smelling the untasted
royalty shall dine
a stolen gulp
of air
most of all
but taken granted

a withered frosted lily
warmed by heat
of passionate love
bloomed, in its dirt
but is it also
a part of those broken souls
ask the seer
who much cannot hear
its those years
of listening upon
the secrets,
the wind whistled into
our ears
that he caught upon
and held in a closed fist
as not to let go

but the breeze
contoured the scars etched
in the most vulnerable
of his palm
teasingly,
smothered the pain
of yester years
nurtured hope in the moist
of the clenched hand
a make - do womb,
but the expectant,
its expectations
gave birth to impatience
and a fluttering butterfly
caught his attention
as he let go of all
that penance bestowed to the normal
a hand free of hope

now all was lost
like a creaking door
that was blown away in a hurricane
'so what'
he said,
sipping on to some gin,
a child, shall live
and i shall perish in his identity
cause they shall hold my idea
against me
as it takes form of the course of its nature.
so i shall smell the autumn bloom
wait back to discover
that they shall never.