By Rishank Kumar
Here I stand upon a
gleam of despair.
The crossroads call onto me,
A spectre’s affair.
Funneling restraint from my soul,
I take this end
Amidst the chaos and its flair.
I call onto the voice
at the beginning,
“but I’ve fled, abandoned my assembly
for this abhorrent vice”,
Should the truth not lay by my corpse
when I do succumb?
Should the lies
Bear not the truth to these breathes undone?
“Augustus, weary Augustus,
usurper of valor, Augustus”,
I hear from afar, a maiden’s voice
or a mother’s
Whose last of kin I did abscond
To the fiery furnace of choice.
These pains unravel
My cowardice as does this icy night,
A mare bearing admittance
To an open ground, I rejoice
As I testify my hands, away from fright.
“For what good is a man,
Whose fellow shall succumb
When he draws life.
For how liberal is a man,
Whose fellow shall plunge
When he deserts a strife”,
The voice narrows down on
My breast,
Uncanny to a painful blister it sizzles
Upon my knighthood’s crest,
The blood I served I have
Laid to rest.
My duties, my kingdoms, my brethren
I have stood upon time
And I have deceived the best.
The long hours now draw short
I shall surrender to the
First array of arms my eyes follow.
Yet stands upon these
Crossroads only a coward,
Survived by his heart, whence hollow.
The two billed creature
Stands upon its hoof
Begging me the choice, should I wallow?
Perhaps it’s the will of faith,
And faith be a plaintiff upon my tribulations
Where I rest these hands so deep
Now in sorrow.