---

My sword, my shield, are heavy now,

the battles rage, my neck feels bowed.

Once more;

my head’s above the parapet,

princely darkness; devil silhouette.

---

Rancour,

blood and fire, steel and death,

cling to the air; grasping breath.

Encore,

there is no time for plaudits’ sorrow;

every ‘moment’ had – scorned by tomorrow.

---

This suit of armour wears a chink,

whenever the owner bears to think,

deeply;

in ocean beds; discomfort lurking,

from the pearl of wisdom; I’m undeserving .

---

Discreetly,

these battled wits within my mind,

devise painfulness, a brand new kind;

obliquely.

This ever present convalescence

makes; funeral pyres of my presence.

---