Elections

The torrid Sunrays never cease
To build a skin of hardened ease,
The twentieth to the right stops to smile,
Walking onward mile by mile.
The hundredth person sings a song,
With the fiftieth man waiting so long,
The queue goes on and on and On,
The elections are looming,  so long!

Regenesis

Within and without,
giving more than the bout,
alternating to and fro
up and down and about.
What words beseech me?
As you draw thee unto seeing,
with more than words could
crave, our hearts may not relent.
have we lost the war, this holy war,
of words and becomings?
This lovely killing desire of gifts,
this wave of life, from hilt to hilt.
with plumes of varied hues coming,
life is but a fortune of retellings.
weaving gold upon gold,
the colourful existence of being
Is cold and fraught with no
undesirable wickedness,
but a gift to mankind and regenesis.