THE CIRCLE OF ELATION

The clarion call whispers o’er the maladic blue
To add purpose to the sceptic’s reason
Upon the isthmus of decision, all conclude
That the stoic is the man for all seasons.

The soul decides as each pinnacle conceives
Its off-spring – to be wolf-fed
A lupercalian lashing from an ample nation
That a drowsy Caesar may be bred.

But like an ailing predator being mocked by its prey
Mortality dawns as a sleep
Its embers ignite the soul’s indifference
As homely joys pause to weep.

Like a song to myself which goes off cue
An awakening of the imagination
As the dew doth weep, the soul now sleeps
All to the circle of elation.

Copyright 2008 by Rennie Dhanoolal.