Monday, April 2, 2012


6) I sink faster than poor rocks I used to
Throw, when I was king among brothers; oh,
What memories bad, sung, now interweave
Themselves through the dreaded waters; for forms
Of those that have gone before, fettered by
Gloves of vindication, now worn with time's
Rust, will be released in this boiling sea.
But I who was their their evil, guaranteed
What safe passage where I could find it, bleed.
As they bled, pulled ever still into these
Blasted passages of the dead, through trees
Of skeletons where the dreaded sea men
Woe upon themselves the same trickery
They did employ in life; my bane, is me.  

                                                                     Self-Bane, (C) Luke Bennette, April 2012

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