The dawn will not respond
The bleak letters stand
The reprieve lives only as theater
And we are at hand
In the palm, clenched
Awkward fixation and reflex
Determined in the hex
What then shant be written
And often times surrendered
Oh the meakly minted papers
Scrolls of nomads taunt
Yes, we are vile
Completing our wound
That we are bound to one and all
Despite spite unglued
Wisdom and refusal
And reluctance timber again
Each decade spent
Each mundane wish dispelled
Feb 21
Feb 21, 2026 at 10:19 PM UTC
The dawn will not respond
The bleak letters stand
The reprieve lives only as theater
And we are at hand
In the palm, clenched
Awkward fixation and reflex
Determined in the hex
What then shant be written
And often times surrendered
Oh the meakly minted papers
Scrolls of nomads taunt
Yes, we are vile
Completing our wound
That we are bound to one and all
Despite spite unglued
Wisdom and refusal
And reluctance timber again
Each decade spent
Each mundane wish dispelled