At times, life is a bittersweet drink and yet still it is what quenches our thirst.

Tattered Hall
by Michael Romani

With the tolling of the bells
The poet is announced dead
All the mystery and half of the spells
From his words roll on in our heads

Immaculately cancerous in suspicion
Seldom the subject of derision
The poet's song is ended
And the darkness of night is befriended

In the tattered halls left a mess
Lies the body of his sacred muse
There in her pretty summer dress
Lies the peace of the poet unused

But, instead cherished for herself
Not as an object but a valued soul
Whose words flowed like books from a shelf
Spoken freely as they would stroll

A few of the verses were quite tossed
Back straight, no chaser; neat not wet
Some of the meanings eventually lost
But the feelings were such as to never forget

(c) February 26, 2019   Michael Romani
All Rights Reserved