The Tolling Death Knell

The distant and echoing swell
Of the tolling bell,
Resounding peals that silently dispel 
The earthmoving deadening spell
Doth forsake and foretell 
Upon the date marked well 
In chiseled stone thine own Danielle-
Of grief and tears befell 
Upon this dying farewell 
Where memories will be kept unwell 
In this unforeseen hell, 
Alas, I'll have this day to be held 
And the tolling death knell. 

The Servant

The hours after midnight slowly unwind
upon my mind, an unceasing forbearance 
of the hypnotic vespers and whispers of the 
talebearing debauchery, alas, the lading embrace
of youth, like the wisp of light upon some butterfly’s 
wing, scramble amongst the bramble, subtleties and
vernaculars kite upon the darkness, sorrow always 
scales and stipes the nightfall like some avenging hunter,
I will not stand still and fight these higher demons, I cannot
slake their power, my alliance is this conformity of grief, I 
need no one’s aid, for you cannot see these ghosts, you can’t hear
their litanies, and you’ll never battle amongst any god and win, 
now, the linear of time captures every crumb of memory and 
enraptures every tangible misdeed with wile and chaw, this
voluminous overlay is my broken cross to bear alone, for welcoming 
this vituperation is my ascent to penance, but, death will end it and 
I’ll await to give the worms their feast because it’s better to serve someone
than to be their king. 

©️5/7/2020

  - John Hardesty

Maturity

I was such a late bloomer, I didn't bloom until the 
tenth snowfall.


©️ 5/4/2020

  -  John Hardesty

The Muck, Mire, and Mud

We see clearly the liquid in the cruet, 
yet, the honey needs tasting like the bee
for whom savored every flower in the 
exuberant meadow; though the same akin
bottle above the safety of reach lies an unmarked
deadly liquid that was devoured by a helpless child, 
now, departs one happy family; 
Through the bramble and wood, some youthful sprigs
find the morsel of life-morels, yet, inadequate in 
nature’s trickery pluck every mushroom they see,
whilst eating them like candy, singing and laughing 
all the way to their graves; 
The foggy mist descends upon the valley,
flustered by uncertainty, most wait it out and let
the sun lift the shroud from the morning, though
one cad decided he knew the road well but the cliff
not that much; 
Take stock in everything, including your life, 
there’s no insurance in the world that compensates 
for negligence and stupidity. 

©️ 5/4/2020

  - John Hardesty 

Karma

Karma’s epsilon is patience. 

The Reign

Silver Dust

They carted you off to the Poseidon Society
without one last goodbye, desperate coping 
allays any doubt of misery and pain you’ve withstood, 
hung my moorings upon some passing cloud of remembrance,
that undisclosed final door, that one exit of no return;
the plight of reason that’ll never reach me in a million
light years, now will have become one dim and dying star of 
inconsolable regret, you have no idea what an unlimited 
significance your tutelage doted upon this meandering 
valiant soul, you were never invidious or insidious to 
anyone, just one graceful, loving, and venerable rugged 
soul, you hung your crest with dignity, wore your fate 
like some noble hero, no one reached your nephesh, there
wasn’t any dissuading or menticide angling, you were your 
own king, you scathed and checked all trouble,
yet, came to me always when I was in need; now, misery flings
her arrows in perfect arc, rarely she misses with her grief, 
I weep like some gelded young lamb for your return, yet, knowing
you’ve ridden far from the perimeter of any reunion, desperation
now girds me with desertion, I wallow in neck-deep tears just to
hear your laughter again, and drown in the deepest sea of sorrow just 
to hear your voice one last time. Adieu my dearest cousin, until the 
silver dust rises again. 

©️ 4/17/2020

-  John Hardesty