Heavy Hangs the Helmeted


What is this wicked waning then?
Where wonder once was found?
Featureless the fog unfolds,
For fear and foe to shroud.

Safety, sure and sabeline,
Seems sold on slight of hand.
Heavy hangs the helmeted;
Hell - heavens demand.

Difficult to divine it,
Doused in deep defeat.
Where is the wicked waxing then?
When I do not retreat? 

  • Author: Quemis (Offline Offline)
  • Published: December 22nd, 2022 21:55
  • Comment from author about the poem: ...
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 13
  • User favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek.
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  • L. B. Mek

    'Safety, sure and sabeline,
    Seems sold on slight of hand.'
    (how to question accountability
    when we inherit a world
    with its accounts, touched-up
    since the dawn of thought...)

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