A Comedy of Deception

And what an end to a soul's companion!
This false consciousness was enough to kill
Marking two graves with deliberation
Setting the cradle of doomed news against the sill,

In the callous trajectory of cold regret
An odour that blemished all it knew
Somehow post-obsequious; bereft of rancour
Obliged to the faith it slew,

Propped upon passing entice is an
Evasion that unwinds the knotted rapport,
Eases a distance in like clay mud
Smothering the cracked dry floor,

Of fertility this tactile essence
Has quickly untaught itself
And is now a figure on a page 23,
Out of favour with itself,

In awe of some Gideon else.