Second Chances


Across the weathered bands of time,
in oceans black and torment strewn,
come bestial forms of madness rhyme,
from ‘neath the squalor tide they’d loom.

Their gloomy home, they would in rest,
forsaking merriment upon mine heart
and cackle gleefully in jest,
abreast sweet anarchy they’d start.

Go eons by and still change none,
with worried lines that curse my brow.
Though age did serve this victim some
a learned lesson did I avow.

Partake of goodness love and joy.
These gifts another did invoke.
No more enslaved by bitter ploy,
forever free from daggers spoke.

Mark well this tale that here was spun,
from hands that many tears did stain.
What once was lost may yet be won,
and love shall rise within again.