I Find No Peace

I find no peace, and all my war is done.
My life was never loud, but now in quiet
I’ve been reduced to reading Thomas Wyatt
For comfort. Ah, but comfort there is none.
One sonnet ends, another is begun
And ends too soon, a veritable riot
Of unwashed food for thought, a rotten diet
Disgraceful, full of everything but sun.

Without eyes I see, without tongue complain,
This dank, dark place a prison of my mind,
An empty space to which I’ve been assigned
In mercy’s absence, nothing left to gain
Or lose, but only misery and pain.
I’ve been unwise, while you have been unkind.

Fools

I can’t fool you. You’re way too smart for that.
No magic here: there’s nothing up my sleeve
(And anyway, what do those tricks achieve?),
No ribbons, pulling rabbits from my hat,
Nor epic structures raised from something flat.
So let’s just take a moment as you grieve
(I do confess I practised to deceive
While I was grinning like a Cheshire Cat).

No one is smiling now. I made one quip,
And terror claimed the room. I was at fault,
But you should take me with a grain of salt
Like any prisoner under the whip.
The earth’s rotation made me lose my grip,
The more fool I; someone should call a halt.

Our Souls

Her eyes are shining like two jet-black coals
Reminding me of dark depths that I’ve known,
Having experienced the wind, been blown
Past where I’d thought I saw my proper goals.
“We should combine our open hearts, our souls
To live in harmony where we’ve been thrown,”
Her eyes say. “Come on, Babe, throw me a bone.”
I shake my head, same as the clever trolls.

“Go wave your flag at someone else,” say I,
Exhibiting both worthlessness and phlegm.
“You should know better,” I tell her, and sigh.
“I'm a lost cause, while you’re a living gem.
I’m visited each night by succubi;
I’ve sold my soul to every one of them.”