Apathy’s Sonnet

If there be nothing new but that which is,
in tales, in talks, in lore, our dreams restored,
Which cast beneath the boot of all we miss,
a kiss upon a sordid lip tastes black.

Then curling up to paint a mask in words,
a master’s tongue monopolizing worth,
Among the masses and their tearless eyes,
with geeking jaws and laughter in their throat,
as savage as the caw crow says I –

what would you know?

That there could be a shelter for a pup,
pawing ground around a burning shed,
The wolves have teeth and
wear them like a crown,
A royalty in blood, a dripping name.

O death in youth is terror,
and shallows shackle anchor graves,
But time reveals a place of peace,
a tomb to sleep that’s safe.

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