Season of Paradox

Form: Quatrains

In the season of paradox cowards slink,
The world in ambiguity is enslaved.
The writer’s quill flows with contrary ink,
Without the clarity all is depraved.
This life is mortality’s enigma,
We seek to understand the baffling.
It’s lost in a mindless, puzzling stigma,
Among the intellectual waffling.

©JGFarmer2008

2 thoughts on “Season of Paradox

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