An 'Elegy' For Irony Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

Sharp trickster,
how we loved to watch you tie
our muddled minds
into a knotted maze.
Your jests and jokes
did twist each question,
'Why? '
till heart and head
were drugged in deadly daze.
Wise cynic,
never have you had such praise
for tense distortion,
farce and helplessness.
With hope abandoned,
darkest night betrays
'dead' land,
'dead' minds
and only Death to bless.
And yet in spite of Lethe,
I must confess my heart still beats
and wiser have I grown,
for,
while I have no spirit left to guess,
I know the constants
even you have known.
And so if queer queens love
and scapegoats die
won't spring reveal the truth
of every “lie”?