Meleager


Lost was I
In caustic tides
My very boat, a coffin – ides
Of spring became the offered lie
I chose to cling
For those who sing
Their siren song of chosen kings
Would often plie
With loss and lie
And see me simply tossed aside to swing

Within a noose
Of thin abuse
As if a neck, so any use
Was lost as oft as any truce
For every cost
I came across
Was little more than shame and dross
Upon a puce
Lament of views
Where all I seem equipped to choose is loss

From gentle hands
That bent demands
As often as they swept the sands
Atop a grave where missives swam
For what they gave
Was but a cave
But never light for that would save
So there I stand
To thus remand
And wander with this fading brand enslaved

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