Impromptu: God blesseth thy herd, vagabond whoseth
carnals have the vanguards belittled

The night dawned over the sullen shine
famished to witnesseth the callous whispers
dark horses bridled with incestuous malign
unruffling the innocuous in swiny vespers

The day lethargic broods in stealthy pace
frogs swirl the wetlands for insatiable mates
solemn, spellbound is she as her days
in this sweet sojourn- seems all pass

Wet eyes run her cheeks dry
joys oxymoronous in her life’s palate
nature cast-on the gloom with a wry
heavens damn as the brittle heart scathe

Conscience alludes seldom to her forceful recall
to memorabilia wrapped and spanked by the odds
she writhes in anomalous pain and foul
once a sweet sojourn- seemed all pass

Gotcha! Us bluebloods, she a congenital disgrace!
Society that hallows her genre, plays prank!
Heinous demons heed not to tenderous sighs.
Lo! Masqueraders say not to the budding pariah

The twilight in her eyes scorned the night
lustrous contours lost their illustrious lustre
the gobbles smite her aplomb to retreat
jaywalkers make her their jamboree’s pasture

Her forgone home holds abysmal signs
wrecked, wretched by a savage storm
Mom- her only acquiesce in heavier veins
lived sans jauntiness in a besmirched form

Death rescued her from its lingering knell
but for her girl, fresh from her chord
salacious world unleashed a malicious spell
traders besieged her, disporting in discord

Marred by lusty overtures and perverse gestures
caressed by the delinquents brutally naive
she-“the irony of her age”-succumbs
of moral blemishes when the vanguards maim

Is she THE SORT of masochists fame?
Though not by choice as nature’s child
call it thy blindspots of heavenly grace
lest decadence in the sneak of the wild.