Wainwright’s Wheel’s Weal Rights Wane
WAINWRIGHT'S WEAL RIGHTS WANE
Though tales turn legends over time,
and myths begin when legends fade,
what part of myth with truth may rhyme,
what soul against sole feather weighed
may find past actions well repaid ?
When all’s said, done, deeds scarce sublime.
Life desert seems till time to go
with post deserted on the job,
far from youth's spinning vertigo
age makes do with conditioned lob,
cobber clobbered ends as slob
beneath Time's sands, tune dune blown woe.
Strife's tragedy, life's glory's reign,
dust rust as fractious fractal sand,
at dusk Time's Wheel still turns, refrain
falls dumb, numbs mice and mens' vain plan
to cheat Fate which, impassive, gain
and loss ignores for also-ran.
Those who chased harvest grains of gold,
and those who flung them on wold, waste
alike forgotten lie, tale told,
rot, bolt shot, sot and sage misplaced.
Six feet by four where two feet raced
through space unlimited: all cold.
Time's spinning wheel steals, never still,
while mortal pawns from stem to stern
turn through warp, weft, whose pattern will
gainsay those praying for return,
for second innings while they spurn
hands begging alms, yet rob the till.
Some find fame’s flame, some, lame, are lost
some simply tack or take up slack,
few certain feel, far more count cost
of one-way track, no looking back,
prepare for probate and attack
all who dare care for coming frost.
Unkind is almanack which notes
ephemera most prize a while:
birth, spousal celebration, oats
sown wisely, rashly, reconcile
to soujourner such short shrift trial
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poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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