OathA 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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1 Review Added on July 24, 2012 Last Updated on July 24, 2012 AuthorhjcmUnited KingdomAboutshower 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..Writing
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