Oath

Oath

A Poem by hjcm

If virtue is the mark of my honour,
I must bear every degradation upon my soul
with strength; I must fold up my weak limbs
and make a stone of my skin.
The water will wash over my back.

Stones will crumble -
the old ways are nothing but dust swept away on a breeze
or part of a beach somewhere, 
under the feet of teens on amphetamines -
irrelevant: just like I am to all of them now
with my body wasting away
and my centre being stripped down 
as I gradually cease to understand why I am always the one left naked.

© 2012 hjcm


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Added on July 24, 2012
Last Updated on July 24, 2012

Author

hjcm
hjcm

United Kingdom



About
shower poetry: poetry that comes to you in the shower, or whilst doing something similarly mundane. It is short, mostly unedited, and a little bit shoddy. more..

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