The cold reality of the morning after Mardi Gras

First Lenten morning

The harliquined gold and silver costume
Is filthy soiled from yesterday’s mindless
turmoil in search of The fine art of rivalry
and indulgenced liquid haunting courage

Performing once abhorrent dances
Deluded into belief in transient ecstasy
proven to be as ever ethereal elusive
And fraught with buyers remorse

The gutters run with a sultry rain
Washing the beads and flotsam
Of a world in search of nirvana
Down their gaping darkened maws

With sober eye startling our throbbing
Minds we face Ourselves in dirty broken
mirrors And resolve again to once more be
Loving in its truest sense.

Poetry by josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 243 times
Written on 2019-03-07 at 13:29

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Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
Ah, yes, the transient jollity of the revels!

I love: "The gutters run with a sultry rain." An expert weaving of sounds!