Self-Sacrificial Souls

The driver sits bitterly, a betrayed, battered soul,
life-weary, on an old carriage
that creeps slowly along unsunny bits
of slithery, slobbery mess
swallowed by shadows
while driving to the brink of doom.

Fearful passions of pleading, wistful souls
with large, haunted eyes and
gay gold names on little bodies
and yards of soft tenderness
unravel around.

The wistful, poisonous self-sacrificial souls
saunter though spaces of
this overly harnessed world,
world-lost souls, world-lost saunter,
symbolic, universal, grey mist-wanderers.