How foreign, that the soul by which I breathe

By Scott Andrew Kass

How foreign, that the soul by which I breathe,
And have since, like the closing of a flower,
To shield the bud, my flesh had made its sheath,
Rejects its purpose; so Divine a power,
Shriveled to waste, as if in refuse strewn,
It shivered at the passing traffic's chill,
At ends of alleys, deepened 'neath the Moon,
Whose shadows sharpen by an artless will;
Preside I 'ere the cheering audience
Of layered gardens dressed in Spring's last bloom,
Who she adorns in bridal radiance
To welcome Autumn as her patient groom,
     Await they my recital of a prayer
     That warps in fog that hangs and holds them there.

Scott Andrew Kass was born and raised in New York City. He attended CUNY Queens College where he discovered his love of traditional poetry. He has since written in an attempt to mirror the Romantic Era works with special attention to their expression of nature and feeling while keeping a more-strict meter and rhyme scheme. His work typically revolves around his questions about humanity, society, religion, the natural world, and his own confusions and troubles with these.