Barrellofart Poetry (50)

It is for neither shame, nor pride underfoot
That to the ground my attention is drawn
But simply that time we have spent, given up
And contemplation of time left to make amends

I recollect those splendid days, which I so willing gave up
Gave up, then, them, my time, and afterward their purpose
Which now are lost forever- like a weakened door collapsed
After once being traversed, unable to receive me back

Once I might have prayed for intervention, lacking faith
Or then in godlessness to pitiful and useless astrology
That therein lay a beauty up to which she might look
And relish those kindred memories of stars

So I cast my gaze towards the ground, for finite unknown days
Remorse, neither limitless or eternal, may follow me until my end
But so also hope of that someday in which I may raise my head
And know what I have buried would not draw me, also, to that grave

Lips 'sticked, late night thrift rips fixed, neon shifts' clock ticks
Tricks whipped, bottles tipped, the tippers sip, sit back, sickly slick
Sittin' fit, hittin' hard shit, every bit they sift, drain, an' drip
Cigs lit, legit with gin grins and grit, sharp wits like sharp riffs