Besotted

What is that I see, the haze past the midnight hour,

Senseless and fogged, of hoodlums near and far;

Walk this hour, in the demureness of my immodesty,

Drenched in pity, to the days a mere travesty;

The clink of souls, when I merge with the spirits without,

The parched conscience, soothed by the proliferating drought;

Lost and forgotten, unable to tread the meanders of the day,

Doused and extinguished, the cradle where my nights lay;

Dragging the sounds, were they the songs I left behind,

Swaying to the nothing, were they the beauties I would never find;

A forsaken path, I cannot keep my eyes on,

A dwindling will, there might never be another dawn;

Count my steps, they never fall where I intend,

What power is you, to whom my vigor shan’t pretend;

What way is it, how you imbibe in me the catalepsy,

What way is it, how still there remains strength in my palsy;

Inebriated tonight, there is no other lay I can sing,

Flowing in veins, you’re the poison to which my titters swing;

For the next day, I do not care for the onerous gripe,

Before that dawn, let me wallow in this intoxicating tripe…….