Posted by: Ron DuBour | April 19, 2018

HEMLOCK’S MALADY~by Gœaldèþ Rhÿdëï




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Silence in the night that sway the somber breeze
Until the moon shines o’er the gloomy star
Spirit awakens by the brightly gaze
In Serenity hues of Ol’ buttermilk sky
Sordid souls depressed in the gallows.

If death mirth the recesses of the heart
Yield not unto it, for its fair to awaken ethereal divine
Amidst the savages of high spirits above
A dove descended with savvy feathers
From hamlet tho’ casts the awakening lucidity.

Lo and Behold! Erudition of time conquers all!
When drought spell drowned the virile land
She would fog it with mist as it wind down as thirty I am?
Come, as we quaff the cup of savoir faire,
As a burnish to our blunt elegance.

Socrates, Oh Socrates! Ordeal of Athenian Death!
Who owed a rooster to Asclepius?, forget not thy debts.
For unto thee, oh unto thee, who lament the impiety of Philosophy?
Forethought the anguish of ruminations, Draught a goblet of Hemlock potion: “The Philosopher’s Choice”
As a quencher for naiveté’ of ignorance.

rhydel dogadle copyright 2018

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