In one solitary meaning,
Ever sinking, ever feeling,
Never fleeting in its seeming
To be deceiving ages old,
I watched it pass like clockwork
Crafting, remaining in its bulwark,
A bunker, sunken in its crafstwork,
As it lingered in the cold,
It yet, gracefully omnipresent,
Basked, entombed in its resentment,
Encased, steadfast in its amendment,
Its self-revel to be so bold,
A reminder of omniscience,
Displaced, now self sufficient,
The rock face here tells a mission,
Of a winter’s life it stole,
The chiseled, engraved markings,
Might to some be most alarming,
Yet the feature so disarming
Seems unfamiliar so close to home.
In its forgotten confinement
Does it seek a realignment,
Awaiting the assignment
The order to again roam.
In sedition and high-treason,
Must there once have been a reason,
That so frigid as this season,
Be repeated and retold.
At a loss for all neutrality
It forged a new reality
Sacrificing our morality,
And justifying why we’re sold.