[Newspoetry] Auld Anxiety Ever kNew

[DL Emerick]

When our past is out of reach,
and its future is out of control,
nostalgia blooms in algae scum,
on waters reflecting our prime.
 
Doleful, dour and morose slime,
the ichor of oozing to become,
festers, mindful of absent soul,
pussy wound to lance and breach.
 
Band-aid another shroud for each,
when thought does other time unroll,
finds hope throbs, gloom and glum --
of distant, distilled pristine time.
 
A friend who speaks no rhyme,
who says to you nothing dumb,
nor smarts in prose making whole,
says no word to you; you screech.
 
Shriek into the void you impeach;
whisper your tears for a goal,
illusion prays, ever yet to come,
bisecting burials in the sublime.
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