I've never had.
Things that mattered
Are now superfluous.
Ah! The Orb has gyrated
Once around the Star,
Since that time- when
A fanatic was, where,
A placid soul is now.
The Vicissitude,
The Seasoning,
Was no merry hap.
Qualms not sated,
Queries linger-
Was the reason
Inaptness or Conspiracy?
Was the outcome truly just?
Unanswered these shall be-
For I prefer not unpleasant bonds.
A recap-
The inert soul has spurned,
Not for anything
But a shield against
Further letdown and
A tryst with a debacle.
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