Monday, July 03, 2006

Above Suspicion

Wantonly, he sighs, and conjures the coming day.
Not that his spirit was sullen or rather beneath
Fruition of the factious, but the veil concealed
Mostly nothing now, like the wisp of whisker
Scattered about his ignoble chin and lips.
An induction of days proved his worth and salt:
A solitary sun unit was true;
He reckons as much forever in the future;
Thus it is so now, and was:
Ignore the light of a day that merely begs.
(c) 2006, S. Lachterman

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