the days grew old

the days grew old, and so did we in strife
the years we wasted battling at words
within the walls of husbandry and wife
in tangled vines of grapes, beset by birds

and happy in our misery, it seemed —
we never sheared where shearing was required:
the watch upon the desk, it fairly gleamed
in telling us our bit of time’d expired

the celebrations rang outside our walls,
the laughter of the others who remained;
again to see: what stands as surely falls,
and are by wine, at last, as deeply stained

    we saw the days grow old atop our tow’rs
    and times grow dark that are, and had been, ours

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s