Of Blemishes

I’m panglossian at heart maybe -

That defenestrates plausible omen.

The agathokakological earth has reason many,

Yet I seem to pay no heed to any!

Bereft of an iota of soporific means,

Tends to leave me rather delirious.

As I furtively put on a tattered mitten;

My victuals lay unsullied, unbitten.

Perhaps it’s pedanticism pulling its strings;

Resplendent - I try to desecrate it and

Emerge into a perpetual ataraxy,

That seraphic feeling yclept, “Serene”!

Bucolic strands emanating an aroma of petrichor

Seem to awaken even a moribund corpse!

Of halcyon days, when purlieus were full,

Have you ever felt that fleeting pull?

With oblivious slurs; perhaps at utter perdition,

Of blemishes encapsulating rigorous beauty –

Maybe you can just breathe peacefully!