Decking halls and wrecking balls:
Creation and destruction meet
Where meaning ends and hope pretends
"Nothing to these gangrened feet!"
The tiring task, voice mailings' masque
Reminds us gun shy fools
That silence brings a zillion zings,
Save mopped up bloody pools.
The mess is yours to clean and bleach
At such an age what's left to teach?
Best to withdraw though gaping maw
Of dreamless zilch invites.
And keep it neat: your stoic feat
Of nestling with the mites.
Your tale is told
It's old not gold
That shall your portion be.
Cry not nor fear
The bier that's near
And know you'll soon be free.
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