Breathless I flee, these dark parades
Bear down; a black whisper taunting,
Flung out, scoured, perjured and tackless,
By petty tyrants that gloat in
Burnished pewter thrones, preen and glut,
On sycophantic prophecy.
Onward, this legion of one, unheard,
‘Midst this cacophanous silence,
I flit all crazed, a broke-wing bird,
Maddened by vanished dreams of flight,
By that bright, cupreous kingdom,
Subsumed into dark avenues.
This while, twisted Jovian shades,
Plutocrats and charlatans plot,
Devise my demise, turn the locks
Of leaden, grey-towered kingdoms,
Cloud clogged, pondere non numero,
And decry this dream of Eris.
