A lifetime's work,
A county clerk,
His watch retirement pay,
Had he been king,
No decent thing
Would hope bestow his way.

Paths mistaken,
Vows forsaken,
The costs one must defray;
Fond hopes despair,
Bankrupt, declare
The pain one can't prepay.

For some, black clouds
Become their shrouds,
Misfortune lurking near;
They strive as hard
Yet fates regard
And turn a deafened ear.

A mad charade
Is life's parade,
If masks we choose to wear:
We'd play the fool,
A misled tool
In damaged disrepair.

--Fr. Veni di Morte



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