Like a moth to light
The snare conspires
To squander the sense
That tears the fence
So choice harms flight
And the shame that’rushes
Through troughs of strife
To t’hero’s life:
That sad upstart
With a shallow heart
Who must steal his hoard
In the day of the bored

Like all that’s rash
His breathless glee
In senseless dash
Forsakes the free
To lay where bides
The source of his lode
The place where he strides
In the day of the bored

That neutered Sire;
Taken to’the wire
Yearns to side
With the passion-tide
His strength to devote
And to build his moat
In the grasp of the horde
In the day of the bored

When the pyre
Of”this denizen
Turns to ash
His stash –
All he’has clutched,
Who will awaken
What Love so desires?
When his heart is touched
With the kiss of the Maker
He is saved at first
From despair’s door
Then from the thirst
And the hunger for more;
And plucked from t’fires
Running from its sword
In the day of the bored

© Copyright. Victory Fields


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