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Briar Rose Dec 2013
Emerging from the darkness,
Your face is encircled with stars of Orion.
Fog surrounding your silhouette.
Overwhelming force field separating
My aura from yours.
Walk a fine street of plated gold,
Deploring plastic cores,
and camera stores.
Flying fast,
Screaming at the past.
Back down from the galaxy.
I scream with ecstasy;
"I am Shakespearean!
I am Freudian!"
You are Napolean,
King Henry and Led Zeppelin!"
Crash, smash, crack myself open.
Electromagnetic magnetism.
Universal Thrum Jan 2014
The walls close in slowly, as the light begins to fade

No more youthful smiles, the days only masked with grey

And yet the world keeps turning

People rushing on by

Filling their days with worry, 
a tear drop wets my eye.

Can you feel the hunger burning,
 your stomach turns to rot

As all are born must stop breathing, eventually an afterthought.
Can you see the light upon the hill for which we all aspire?

Tis the goal of justice, held in the arms of another.

Who is it that holds the key to swing open heaven’s gate
?
Can we obtain succor, to save us from this state?
Socrates says it is the philosopher king;

But even kings are mortal captains

And their love of knowledge
 cannot stop them from unjust folly

How does one find the answer to what is the moral law of God?

Does it uplift the personality, or curse it free from thought?

Better yet, what is your **** worth?

Would you lay down your life a martyr

to bury your brother beneath the dirt?
Left in a world so full of imperfection, we take refuge in the days advances

Television, computers, ipods, and Wiis, lose your self in trivial things.

This distraction gives those in power all that they can want,

For if good men cannot engage and stop the warring

There is nothing to halt man’s wayward plot.
Sin is separation; there is no us and them.

That is your ego and your thought deploring

A mind bereft of ken.

Open up your Eye young child, become the all-seeing Zen

Only then Justice will not matter,

For Justice will be in all of us again.
When I hear you express an affection so warm,
  Ne’er think, my belov’d, that I do not believe;
For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm,
  And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive.

Yet still, this fond ***** regrets, while adoring,
  That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear,
That Age will come on, when Remembrance, deploring,
Contemplates the scenes of her youth, with a tear;

That the time must arrive, when, no longer retaining
  Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the breeze,
When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining,
  Prove nature a prey to decay and disease.

Tis this, my belov’d, which spreads gloom o’er my features,
  Though I ne’er shall presume to arraign the decree
Which God has proclaim’d as the fate of his creatures,
  In the death which one day will deprive you of me.

Mistake not, sweet sceptic, the cause of emotion,
  No doubt can the mind of your lover invade;
He worships each look with such faithful devotion,
  A smile can enchant, or a tear can dissuade.

But as death, my belov’d, soon or late shall o’ertake us,
  And our *******, which alive with such sympathy glow,
Will sleep in the grave, till the blast shall awake us,
  When calling the dead, in Earth’s ***** laid low.

Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of pleasure,
  Which from passion, like ours, must unceasingly flow;
Let us pass round the cup of Love’s bliss in full measure,
  And quaff the contents as our nectar below.
Akarshi Mehrotra Nov 2012
Yesterday was serene n playful,
But today it’s just about stress..

Yesterday was about a joy ful laughter on our chubby faces,
But today it’s about babbling all day..

Yesterday our ambition was to win every game next door,
But today it’s about loosing everything just to get the right one..

Yesterday every work was fearless n freaky ,
But  today it's jittery behaviour for any n every work..

Yesterday it was a habit to be scoffed n loved together,
But today even a harsh word peers away in our heart n love is overseen..

Yesterday every moment was like having repose,
But today it's just about having bubble reputation at any cost..

Yesterday was about spending all day on our dad’s shoulder n mum’s lap,
But today it's just ’our’ room, ‘our’ bed,  n ‘our’ lives..

Yesterday changes were cherished as souvenir of childhood,
But today few changes have actually changed us..
But in a deploring way….
Peter Balkus Sep 2016
Getting thinner and thinner
and skinner and *****
and gloomier and weaker,
unhappier and paler,
depressed more and crazier
and messed, death-obsessed
and stripped to the ribs 
and scarer and thinner
and lighter and paler,
less pretty, enslaved and
less happy, not happy,
Auschwitz-like, so horrid
self-killing, deploring,
and faker, unhappier
and skinner and broken
and scarer and scarer
and thinner and thinner
and thinner and thinner
and ghostler,
and death-like,
fibre-glassed,
dead thin,
dead,
inside and out.
Name XI Jun 2015
a speck on a train of evergrowing thought,
i simply exist in your periphery
deploring each opportunity unsought
trying to wash myself clean of your mem’ry

you are certainly a skilled navigator
you make your way into every part of me
the earth was a kaleidoscope of colour
now it’s achromatic–you are all i see

my desires remain to me inchoate
whether aspiration or admiration
to be like you or be with you: the debate
either of which a mode of self-destruction

as to vertiginous heights i watch you soar
i realize it’s neither option at all
for my wings can never quite take flight like yours
lest you crumble under your great wings and fall
(i try to rhyme) (and count syllables) [reposted from my wordpress]
Joseph Childress Oct 2010
Satan, why is everyone so scared of him?
Lets knock on his door with a thousand cherubim,
And if it’s not enough come back with a garrison,
Of the highest class of angels, some six winged seraphim.

When the battle is raging on,
The demons will start to groan,
When their King is stripped from his throne,
And beat until the white meat is shown,
So we can see his flesh and bones.

Only then we will celebrate our victory,
When the enemy is history.
You see, Violence is the key,
The Devil’s death is meant to be.
It won’t mean spit to me,
The pain and all it brings,
To a being less than me.

I guess this means,
If the torture was switched to me.
Then it won’t mean spit to thee,
A being more than me.

While he’s so busy deploring me,
Instead of looking for more to see
There’s much more to me,
Than a sinning human being.

But since the God I love,
Promised me a place above
My shoulders I have to shrug,
**** the other thugs,
Give ‘em war, not love.
K G Nov 2016
When the camera was a following suit
It would gnaw on the amaranth, internally
******* the air and all emotion inside itself
Giving eyes to itself
It saw the deploring dump of flesh
As it split, with the coyest drone
KG
onlylovepoetry Sep 2019
“never lament casually”

Leonard Cohen


the serious are plenty burdensome,
so if the flight delayed, or the device batteries,
moments away from recognizing that
0% is still a viable digit with a special meaning,
these, none deserving of deploring the human condition

but the weight of leaving her in cold Montreal,
while old promises made, demand a presence in L.A.,
freezey veins, icy cracking inspiration attempts in vain,
all the unrecognizable for crying out loud verses on a
cocktail napkin scribbled, watching ink letters wet melting

your wants simplest, fireplace warmth snap cackling
pop love songs verses for her, the sheets of her dark skin,
silken on your tongue, the wetness of her Oh’s,
left a connect-the-dots map from your nose to toes,
but her fingertip markers, now a thousand miles away,
busy throwing up to the sky, hands filled with leaves of
crisp falling colors assortment, only the colorless no’s left

they play a tune you wrote years ago on the lounge speakers,
modified, wordless, so it’s innocuous, background harmless,
this axes paper cuts on your private places where the songs get
birthed, and now your whole package is tonnage measurable,
the lamentations serious, serious constellations, etching a new song


<>

“for the relearning is the crown jew-el,
that jesters rob from their kingly masters,
pride in love is the fall season preceding
Canadian winters, always thinking
you know better, be better at keeping warm,
this time which is the next time

you cannot learn from love,
cause it’s twice, two times,
never the same,
past lessons ain’t no prologue,
the body is maybe in the wafers,
sometimes vanilla,
sometimes chocolate

and the epilogue is
100% of the  poem~songs
that I loved writing
and hate remembering

9/10/19
George Krokos Dec 2012
This universe is God’s creation what more is there to say
and so everything that happens in it is a part of His play.
It’s only when something starts to go wrong on a major scale
God personally has to come down to make sure it doesn’t fail.

The world is not perfect though perfection is hidden there
and so every once in a while it requires God’s loving care.
This is also the general work of all spiritual masters and saints
who go about doing their sacred duty without any complaints.

To the people at large this may not be obvious though some would suspect
about the universal maintenance of creation by God and those of His Elect.
Even the forces of nature respond in accord with what has been laid down:
that original master plan which God adjusts every time He has to visit town.

These visits some say are very infrequent and thus too far in between
and so the world situation as it is now is the result which can be seen.
But it’s one of the paradoxes of life that destruction often preceeds reconstruction
and unbeknown to most God did come and leave again inspite of any obstruction.

But God’s not to blame for this as His Spirit is forever here omnipresent
it’s because of man’s forgetfulness of Him that precipitates His descent.
By living an unnatural existence in the world man causes so much harm
to his own kind and the harmony of nature which only raises the alarm.

If, as it is said that, the Earth is the centre of our known universe
then whatever bad happens here must have repercussions adverse.
Like the hub of a giant wheel which gradually begins to break down
the rough vibrations that follow on through are to be felt all around.

And so man seeks to escape from this world he is destroying
well before its own time is up - how the situation is deploring.
In selfish pursuits and mostly to satisfy all of his ignorant desires
man is turning this world into an ash heap after smoke and fires.

The signs are here for us all to see, there shouldn’t be any mistake,
that the universal maintenance of creation Some One has to make.
Especially on this world here, given that it’s the very centre of it all,
being the only place that we know of where man acts so very small.
_________________
Private Collection - written in 1997.
Bluelips Mar 2013
If you wake tomorrow
And I am gone,
Then know that I
Will be in some safer place,
And won't not return
No more.

If you wake tomorrow
But light is dim,
You will me not behold
For my silhouette is just a veil,
Flowing in the wind,
Evermore.

If you wake tomorrow
A little colder,
And my shadow is
The only fragment left of me,
I have your dreams
Restored.

If you wake tomorrow
To a silence,
Leaving you trembling
The voice you hear is not me,
But a sigh deploring in
Your core.
In an effort to preserve a solitary strand of consciousness laced with conscientiousness that I can only describe as the lingering remnants of hope within me, I'd like to take the time to catalogue this lonely thought amidst an overwhelming, unwanted, and relentless cacophony.

Sometimes, even within the most ludicrous events or wanderings of the mind we can find a moment of gratitude or humble ourselves to then change our perspective
-however briefly.

Think about how tirelessly a phone speaker or any electronic device for that matter works to provide as a source of consistent entertainment, comfort, and support (depending on how you utilize your devices). Yet the minute it breaks or fails, we viciously attack it for having failed us; chastising, deploring, and implementing our derogatory sleights once it deviated outside of its expectancy. Negating the circumstances previous in which it has been right there to provide what we desired or needed in real time.

The same thing can be applied to how we treat each other. It is vital to remember if we feel that someone has failed us to simultaneously recall how many times they have been there when we needed them. And most importantly forgive them the faults of their human condition while gaining the ability to recognize those very faults within ourselves. Approach with understanding, share wisdom, and spread compassion as you tread. Even if the circumstances do not fall in kind with you. The reason behind your pain, confusion, and suffering is so that you'll know when the good times come. "What you are, I once was. What I am, so you will become."
ManVsYard Nov 2014
I live in a giant matrix
of imaginary wierd-oooo's
A cast of coo-koos counting
tics
and clocks.

Who are totally ignoring
a situation deploring
It's like they are all snoring!
There are locks,
on all
the tocs.

Yes! Ticks are piling up
at six, five, and seven
****** by gravity
dead or alive,
without even one debate
without Tocs: always late
Time slowed down is our fate.

The curse?
Reverse
Over-drive.
Call me a pacifist activist deploring insanity of war,
never a Fitbit moon-unit soldier of military industrial
complex, this articulate baby boomer verily stupefied,
openmouthed, dumbfounded at inane ill logic to send
best and brightest, or even those boasting commend

able faculties of body, mind, and spirit (tracing a long
jagged genealogical line harkening millenniums 'pon
fighting for king crimson ransom (demarcating advent
of civilization aggregating en mass), and subsequent
dawn of internecine killing fields.

*************
Dictators topple puppet regimes wobbling
viz falling dominoes crumbling tombstones
roaming contemporary caesars fiddle
Nero foo fighters kindle burning desire

donned gawd father issues hut two, three, four...
tramping grapes of wrath
lady liberty fruited plain laid waste,
*****, pillaged defrocked

inalienable rights: pursuit of happiness
life, liberty sabotaged
dough bro’s rank and file grunts
groom thinly veil unbridled guise

coup d'etat usurp democracy
constitution left in tatters
scattershot blitzkrieg genocide scored
martial fife and corporeal
contraband taps out air

key up magnificently arrayed
highland manor soldiers
bouzouki plucking
troubadour looting accompanies
autocratic regime firebrand

dons singular purpose
affixes emergency legislation suspended
emergency moratorium stifles government
abrogates presidential elections

sanctioned covenants blithely overthrown
social media linkedin commoners coalescence
jackbooted oppressive thugs click heels
protestation meted with truncheon

tear gas canisters, pistol whip, pepper sprayed
defiant demonstrators fold
resurgent subsequent twittering uber vent
facebook, instagram, snapchat recruit

communal cascade brave combat gear
buttressed fighting force feckless fealty
(take knee) pledge allegiance furnish salvo
civilian guerillas unexpected tea and sympathy

reinforcements salvo nsync with lockstep march
coup d'etat spontaneous mission
unite dead reckoning sites unwaveringly
"FAKE" feint obeisance

flaunts commander in chief
freedom fighters fabricate "witch hunt"
megaphone blares while POTUS
perfumed, manicured, coiffed
particularly pleased popinjay puzzled

barreling madding crowd spurs surrender
presidential incumbency abridged
ousted apprenticed commander in chief
imprisoned under house arrest.
ap May 2017
Morrissey was deploring
Henson forever boring
So how could similar I
Ever be worth adoring?
a.p
(i wanna be adored)
Arlene Corwin May 2021
I've added a line: "Even fish feel while they swish!"  
          Doddery

Am I getting doddery,
Long in the tooth,
Long dead to youth?
Or sensible, experienced, mature,
Deploring times and crimes of culture?

I feel pain, must look away
When I see creatures run, swim, fly
Abused,
Unfelt for,
Victimised.

**** fight, horse race, injured, forced;
Elephant, rhinoceros, without tusk;
Even fish feel while they swish;
Hunted whales or seals or tuna.
Turned into a grilled hamburger
I no longer eat frankfurter…
What the heck is wrong with me?
Who out there sees what I see?
*doddery;
slow and unsteady in movement because of weakness in old age: he's a bit doddery on his legs and doesn't get about much.

Doddery 5.18.2021 Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2019
you know when,
you have no colonial history,
and you encounter natives
with a post-colonial
derganged
syndrome, and you're like:
well... that's sure as ****,
not autism or anything...
but then the joke dies
when you encounter
some autistic "peoples"
of the fwee vorld...
and then you bring
the bomb-shell:
but i'm bi-lingual, "schizoid"
and then the conversation
just drops...
    point being:
i need to get this into
the meat grinder...
       vanilla sky?
a spectacle...
than only occurs in the morning,
esp. in europe,
come march...
  and then you forget...
  there was me,
the ivory beauty...
a span of 30 years
together...
the beach...
     mombasa...
          god...
if you looked at her...
you could lick silver
off her skin
when she stood
naked on a beach,
in moonlight...
  and i would pray
and worship and
do all wacky shamanic
******* before her...
and still...
she would eye me like:
i was the tourist
asking for another drink...
and she was nothing more
than a waitress...
it's only a love-affair
that lasts...
for a worth of a
blink-of-an-eye...
       and it doesn't
have the ontology
of being allowed a knowledge
of death...
until you, yourself, die...
there have currently been
two escape points
in my life that i would
ascribe to beauty...
the sister...
of a girl i was dating,
when i was in my teens...
copper sheen...
  and...
when i visited kenya...
and what...
i can best ascribe to...
being...
    panther...
          she looked at me:
judgemental when i heard
she was smoking ****:
i thought to myself:
we didn't you invite me?
it was like black
was ivory,
it was like black was silver...
it was:
the moon, and her skin...
a taboo love-affair
akin to a "lost harem"
affair with an idi amin
"*****"...

       just a glance...
  never, had, a, women,
looked, most, appealing,
as she did,
where, she did...
namely:
  a ivory beauty...
on the ivory continent...

seriosuly...
i have no colonial
inheritence...
slice me up...
and send me off
to that woman in
Kenya...
     that skin...
enough...
to figure out...
       deploring
amber...
   or caremel...
   it's not chocolate...
and it's not charcoal...
it's...
    aminate colour...
it's taboo...

all it was,
was a blink...
of an eye...
  i was sitting happy
on the balcony
admiring the macaque
monkeys...
but here,
she had to do a replica
casablanca
movie scene...
and she was smoking ****...
and back in england
i was diagnosed
as schizoid for
doing the same...

   you know the problem?
when you have a chance
to distinguish between
african women?
  dark kenyan women?
mmm...
   yeah... that part...
west african women?
  nigerian...
  ye'ah....
               that "part"...

but this one kenyan beautie...
i... i...
i just forgot there was
a riddle!
  there is?
  you can't even begin
to express...
what isn't allowed
in mainstream films...
it's... ivory...
it's...
    sheen...
         it's: butter...
it's...
                gulp and liquor...

ah...
   right...
      now you feast on
my maggot-riddled skin
.
Austin Aug 14
take my breath, longing that i disappear
visions of fluorescence fly like birds from a tree
no matter how percipient, i still wake up from reveries–
and find that some chrysalises are blown away by rivers of the breeze
numbers tick, the tidy sum is a wall ever incomplete,
before choosing to become, a wave pierces its abode
jericho rocks, from a crack into rubble, the wind establishes its throne
and the man in metamorphosis, his wings shrivel around the bone
nature wraps its arms around the sorrowful–
his killer contrives burial–
the earth holds his lifeless soul–
made glorious
to put a smile on the face of the deploring–
but you’d never know

unseen, all there is to be seen
swallowed whole by rivers of the breeze
butterfly, take my breath
this is my first time posting here, hope you enjoy :)
to anonymous readers March 6th, 2021
(blustery and chilly Saturday)
reminiscing about mien kampf,
when precious irretrievable youth
frittered away within
emotional wilderness of mine.

Into lonely senescence -
three plus decades already elapsed
trepidation, hesitation, abdication... unbearably
tugging, shouldering,
remonstrating accumulation
of "baggage" thumb

of right hand ****** out
silently raving, quaking
cursing ultimatum parents
(soffit to fascia in)
saw fit to fashion
and hammer home

red hot poker rage
their singular male offspring
middle child of two sisters,
who long since vacated premises
when both young naifs
prior to attaining age of consent

deploring bing holed up
at 324 Level Road redoubt
(long since razed)
built as summer house
remote from fracas of urban bedlam
still one hundred years since Leipers
bon voyage into netherland

father and mother
imposed swiftly tailored
harried styled tough love
translated meant absolute zero value
toward offspring they begot,
and made quite clear loathing

heaped upon sundered fountainhead
good for nothing son of a...,
he whittled away precious time
reading avast among trove of material
crowdsourcing numerous bookshelves
mostly to impress intellectual visitors,

when in truth middle aged couple
thinly veiled country bumpkins,
donned with "FAKE" literacy
stereotypical "rednecks,"
inexplicably begot wunderkind
agog with inhaling literature

in tandem with liberal
magazines and newspapers
oft times whiled away countless hours
sunup to sundown
sequestered most remote nook
within local library (Evansburg)

few miles walk along country road
served as self taught schooling
since parochial educated regimen
habitually rapped knuckles
courtesy whiplike hickory stick
if pupil evinced slightest

distraction, whence schoolmaster
detected lack of attention
as crotchety curmudgeon
blankly droned monotonously
dull jabbering subjected
stone faced classmates

into instant soporific state
futilely struggling to keep eyelids
slamming shut tight
including yours truly,
who when suddenly awake
realized quite a vivid dream!

PostScript: I slightly refashioned
above crafted semi fictitious poem
(written scant years ago)
cuz poignant pathos
to plod along boulevard
of broken dreams still persists into present.
Into lonely senescence -
three plus decades already elapsed
trepidation, hesitation unbearably
tugging, shouldering,
remonstrating accumulation
of "baggage" thumb

of right hand ****** out
silently raving, quaking
cursing ultimatum parents
(soffit to fascia in)
saw fit to fashion
and hammer home

red hot poker rage
their singular male offspring
middle child of two sisters,
who long since vacated premises
when both young naifs
prior to attaining age of consent

deploring bing holed up
at 324 Level Road redoubt
built as summer house
remote from fracas of urban bedlam
still fifty years since Leipers
bon voyage into netherland

father and mother
imposed swiftly tailored
harried styled tough love
translated meant absolute zero value
toward offspring they begot,
and made quite clear loathing

heaped upon sundered fountainhead
good for nothing son of a...,
he whittled away precious time
reading avast among trove of material
crowdsourcing numerous bookshelves
mostly to impress intellectual visitors,

when in truth middle aged couple
thinly veiled country bumpkins,
donned with "FAKE" literacy
stereotypical "rednecks,"
inexplicably begot wunderkind
agog with inhaling literature

in tandem with liberal
magazines and newspapers
oft times whiled away countless hours
sunup to sundown
sequestered most remote nook
within local library

few miles walk along country road
served as self taught schooling
since parochial educated regimen
habitually rapped knuckles
courtesy whiplike hickory stick
if pupil evinced slightest

distraction, whence schoolmaster
detected lack of attention
as crotchety curmudgeon
blankly droned monotonously
dull jabbering subjected
stone faced classmates

into instant soporific state
futilely struggling to keep eyelids
slamming shut tight
including yours truly,
who when suddenly awake
realized quite a vivid dream!
Michael John Feb 2022
when confronted by the mirror
do we see a thief there
and do we call it time..
regard each furrowed line

with deploring sighs
as merry clock chimes
the jolly swagmen here
a bounty of grey hairs..
Hello world, today is me and these dullards' nags.
Look at them, no they must pack up, take up their bags.
Yes, I mean, dullards get out!
Ya-a-ah, Yes, these dullards must get out!
Yes, I mean pack up, take up your bags.
Yes, I say dullards take up your bags.
There is no more time for snoring, get out!
There is no more time for deploring, get out!
Yes, I say come on and tide up your homes.
Ay, I say come on and snore well at your homes.

*** help me, before I kick out these dullards.
God of mercy, help me I'll kick these dullards.
Ay, dullards, come on, get out.
Ay, these dullards, thank you lord they are out!

Written By: The Senior Date:08/08/2021
-The Vision
to anonymous readers March 22nd, 2022
(blustery and chilly Tuesday)
reminiscing about mein kampf,
when precious irretrievable youth
frittered away within
emotional wilderness of mine.

Into lonely senescence -
more'n three plus decades
plus three extra orbitz
around mister sun already elapsed
trepidation, hesitation, abdication... unbearably
tugging, shouldering,
remonstrating accumulation
of "baggage" nothing
to thumb button nose at

think hitch hiker pose
of right hand ****** out
silently raving, quaking
cursing ultimatum parents
(soffit to fascia in)
saw fit to fashion
and hammer home

red hot poker rage
their singular male offspring
middle child of two sisters,
who long since vacated premises
when both young naifs
prior to attaining age of consent

deploring bing holed up
at 324 Level Road redoubt
(long since razed)
built as summer house
remote from fracas of urban bedlam
still one hundred years since Leipers
bon voyage into netherland

father and mother
imposed swiftly tailored
harried styled tough love
translated meant absolute zero value
toward offspring they begot,
and made quite clear loathing

heaped upon sundered fountainhead
good for nothing son of a...,
he whittled away precious time
reading avast among trove of material
crowdsourcing numerous bookshelves
mostly to impress intellectual visitors,

when in truth middle aged couple
thinly veiled country bumpkins,
donned with "FAKE" literacy
stereotypical "rednecks,"
inexplicably begot wunderkind
agog with inhaling literature

in tandem with liberal
magazines and newspapers
oft times whiled away countless hours
sunup to sundown
sequestered most remote nook
within local library (Evansburg)

few miles walk along country road
served as self taught schooling
since parochial educated regimen
habitually rapped knuckles
courtesy whiplike hickory stick
if pupil evinced slightest

distraction, whence schoolmaster
detected lack of attention
as crotchety curmudgeon
blankly droned monotonously
dull jabbering subjected
stone faced classmates

into instant soporific state
futilely struggling to keep eyelids
slamming shut tight
including yours truly,
who when suddenly awake
realized quite a vivid dream!

PostScript: I slightly
refashioned, repurposed and revised
above crafted semi fictitious poem
(written scant years ago)
cuz poignant pathos
to plod along boulevard
of broken dreams still persists into present.

— The End —