Sage

Sage was burned in every corner, and still we gathered ghosts.

Only after forty years or so, my innocence was lost.

Thus unprepared yet debonair, I dove in awfully deep,

Held my breath. My long guisarme had rutted in the steep.

Seaweed green when raw, forest green when rotten.

Sewage in my heart, I lie besotted, my dreams of joy forgotten.

The bees are in the garden, and the ants are underground.

A snake is sleeping in the bag again but listens for a sound.

The database of record keeps a tab on desolation.

A cool compress on blackened eye lacks comfort's consolation.