Stop Thrust:

Epicurean fare often sent for,
A delight craved from shore-to-shore!
Take your fill while you're able,
Make the most at the table,
Else you'll only be left wanting more.


Recovery:

My dear, you knew it was coming,
It was only a matter of time.
Now, let's get back to the rhyme:
Enjoy it, before succumbing.


Volt:

You mean to engage out upon this field?
The call answered; but not solely to battle.
Lower your guard, and your weapons, yield.

With the pure bliss of a child who'll tattle
Illicit secrets out in the school yard;
But not while doors are shut, and chains still rattle.

Injuries since healed, and now those wounds've scarred -
Left to languish in the ago they were created;
A new day dawns; tentatively leave the window unbarred.

Wonder, perhaps, will this be just as ill-fated?
It may be best to leave cynicism concealed,
And simply allow the the tide to roll unabated.

Penned by my hand on the 23rd of Valnuary, in the year 661 AF.