Judges Chambers

the cocksure lad striding melancholy from his hovel
with wavering voice like wilted imagery
to rest his lips which ripple like a novel
upon the nose of freedoms sorry grip.
a tidal wave of questions overwhelm him
where he'll spend his waning golden years
how riddled with despair he knows his life will be
how full of promise, and how bleak with fear.
a rattled teacup in his drought stricken womb
shall shake his self awareness to its core
rediscovering himself with dirt upon his trousers
in sullen artistic license with broken vows
in judges chambers.