At_Last

Cutting Edge G.F.E. McGuiness

Lost, in spirit, Spirit drubbed

To blight of sense, as guile Counted time to empty tasks Then emptied flasks, By feet, at first, Then yards and miles. Expect no seasoned reasoned goals Of sulking men of sullied souls. Pained of painful offing’s Undisproved, though mindful art contrived, Sot negated nexts then evers, Although potentiality survived. Mixed echoes jangled in that mortal hole Bereft its absent soul. It was rage, that reason found, Nostrum quell of poisoned sounds,

Janus blinded looking back Fixed on forward to attack. Burnished letters of the law Letters only, little more?

Writs behind. Closed doors. There's no repair

For that which breathed And breathing yielded As swords in rage of justice wielded.

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