like a skein of silk
blown back across
and up on top
a gray-day bump of wind

elderly elegance walks
her purposeful wobble
a path with scattered
seeds and stems
strewn evenly -
in dim-lit Central Park

the narrow path displays
a woman's unprotected
piece-meal death
by incremental isolates
of soul decay and dissolution

running round about
are rabble
ripe with skills to kill
a spirit
filled with filth
of labor exploitation
long diluted
in false dreams of destiny:
"virtues found
in poverty will guarantee
the meek
inherit only dust
upon the dusty meek"

her days of breeding
to increase
an aristocracy of arrogance
are through

underneath her bland denunciations
are palpable needs and thirst for power
which begs the weak
to speak
with intercessionary
ancient aged opposites
committed to commit

Edited 6 time(s). Last edit at 03/01/2022 11:22PM by easyeverett.

A thoughtful piece here, Tom, I enjoyed the read.

Les

This poem is fantastic on so many levels! I love a mind that can see things this way- then moreover, put words to it that make others feel it too.