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in gentle waste, decay of things unseen
unclean - devoid of reason just -
sardonic, set, avowing to the passage
of rivers wearing nature to the root

together with a fury unabated,
unjust but honest all the same,
in griping malice most acquainted,
with depressions of a fault perceived,

delayed with not a hint of anguish,
disturbed but with no memory
of suffering in orbs of envy,
in nostalgic eyes of pasts and histories

the futile waste, the pointless waste,
what memory will cry for you?
what toys you are and will be
in minds so clean and crude

you, who fade in limelight,
who dies a clear and crisp nuance,
sorrowed hopes you see before you,
when truth drowns in comedy