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Ardent Wage

18 Sep

Vain, this passion of mine,
ardor which is mine to give,
or perchance, mine to keep,
now fully tendered with age.

I feign freely as want calls,
and keep what few remnants
as needs arise, tender within,
accountable for ardent wage.

I bear this wanton burden,
carry the weight of ardor,
and balance its tide to mine,
measured by some prior gauge.

I free now this beast within,
‘ere, boldly, it cries havoc,
and I am, once more, staid,
content in my zealous rage.

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Posted by on September 18, 2016 in My Poetry

 

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