Lately, early comes the agonizing itch
Calls the fall of the bitch (ain’t that a)
A lost dry dropsy brought on
by a mocking mite of thwart desire
A taste of the coming (gone. gone.) fire
A gross manifest of longing’s totemic error
A foolish stig of false foul love (so called)
A last scratch of the buried enmity
Arisen from the heart
forced out the furthest extremity.
Until the last word is scrawled
The misery will not abate
Will come again hark the beck of fury’s fate
The means of damnation infinite
(the way so wide)
Like the sands of time uncountable
Grit to smooth the fool’s jag down
So the verdict is revocable
There is a physic called redemption
A preemptor ‘gainst the vilest sin’s aggrievance.
poetastrophy 