Poem-A-Day: Day 382

So Now What?

Self righteous us
selves write up
said right stuffs,
shelved right up
saint night scuffs.
On the verge of night us
only surge the righteous,
of we, purge the nitrous
or the dirge self righteous
orders were left pious.

No more the night,
not, or foresight
nods more than fright
needs scores and cites
normal things right.
Out on the town,
Orion’s stars shown,
or won some frown
overtly down
on some thing, two
whole things not done.
Who drinks that drone?
Whales sing, act none
whoring cats some
whetstone scat drawl.

When did the end occur?
Wrens died therein, or were,
where does the rain order
wonder? They ran under
wind, or the bland thunder.
Homage to the sky,
home again they spy
hoping to deny
hope. Things do reply,
honoring those that sigh
at the self righteous
ambient right left
and bend sent night rifts.
Are we left righteous
answers quest by self
taught wondering relief?
To what stirring wet life
tears wandering souls right
towards bereft and live
tombs? Wards, they left and lie…