Personalities

I met a man whose whetstone was the thought Obduracy of will could masquerade As soft compliance and never be found out. He filled his unlocked living room with jade. The unspoken may exasperate anyone. The stone, however fierce the sun, stays stone.

Another drove afield for the slightest end In a small car. He puffed the folderol. One drink, and I was cast his long lost friend; A second, and we were pressed to weep a full Lament unmeant for how a ruby room Could all but deep fidelity consume.

There was a girl nervous over the lifelong Weaning she had fallen heir to. Love was a plum She thought she had to swallow to get along. Her sole terror the degradation of humdrum Silks and soft airs crepitating her skin, She lived as though air should be adrenalin.

And one craved for protective coloring The circuses of huzzahing crowds, Crimped in a paper compromise, the thing Of loving cups, glad hands, and daring odds. But the warm home he banked on for his real Stretching ground, bilked him in the mortal scale.

O passions we grow strange in, summer's pride And wry winter's need, the strength to wrest Contemptus mundi from the world's inside Whole choice will gain or looking glass arrest. An unspoken bent exasperates anyone. Stone, in a sun however fierce, stays stone.