no wave to brush back
no love, no grooming
no shallow cove to round
no moment of standing
no wisp of gross neglect
no spade, no fallow ground
no furtive glance
no admission
no poignant afterglow
no discussion of her absence
no mythical bystander
no solitary soldier
no fortune and no glory
not even a simple hurrah
but then, at the altar
of truth, the phalanx of veiled virtue knows that
what is left is hollow, guiltless
"more to come"
"more of the same"
no reason and certainly no rhyme
no more
adt
short hills, nj
Copyright 2010 all rights reserved arpit d. trivedi
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