Youth's Piqued Sequel

Treacherous is the turn of incarnadine cheek and healthful countenance,

Nimble form stolen, instilled in its place a decrepit mockery of erstwhile vigor.

Fingers claw at remnants of bloom, yet flesh meticulously preserved shall nevertheless abide by life's laws.

Efforts of eternity by which it is unmoved, swiftly will revered frame wilt from greedy palms 

The psalms of mouths distracted plead for a renewal, left mercifully unheard. 

By their own means is a now disconsolate world endured, absent of deserved fondness. 

Pitiable, as seldom might they have borne the brunt of woe, for placated they would be by the homely embrace of age’s tenderness. 

Through hallowed sockets peers aporetic gaze, the prickled sting of self inflicted dismissal a crude arousal to an imminent cessation.

And so, the palms of their composers, derivers of being, now become the foremost addresses of indignation. 

Long will the lingering period remain in which they bask in assertions. Benevolent hopes that they are otherwise deserving, and that he who moulded them with such grace, and heed, would return the revocation.