The Winter of Our Discontent
by R.E. Slater
Now is the winter of our discontent,
Where brother calls brother brother no more,Where hand lifts 'gainst head by anger’s vent,
And smouldering ires lie murderous about.
Surely no woman, no man, denies family or friend,
Yet vile offenses seethe neglects and feuds,
Fueling lies of ill-will, refusing fellowships sweet,
Castrating lives like mown grasses of summer.
Low lay brooding spirits inflamed siren’s hymns,
Fell darkness descending on remorseless charms,
Imagined illusions guiding misguided spirits,
Hearing no seasons but hell's hateful dark maw.
Winter or summer, springtime or harvest,
All be the same moved intent's dark climes,
Spewing madness’s flames lit burning moods,
Noxious marshes befouling most putrid fools.
R.E. Slater
July 17-19, 2019;
edited Aug 20, 2019;
May 5, 2020
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