Although at times two foes are bound for more,
Before their altered state, two banners fly.
Attrition either’s aim, each wages war,
Lest one should rather for the other die.
As only from the final volley’s burst
Shall two in one a single nation form,
So we, entrenched in battle from the first,
Are merely foes that may perhaps transform.

For you, whose sight alone deals lethal force,
From your fortress, strike without reprieve;
Which I lay siege upon, without remorse,
Each breath for me, and not for you, I breathe.
The damage done, to you I humbly yield,
Resigning with, and not upon, my shield.

A Show of Hands


Sonnet 1: The Moderates' Plea

There can't be peace between the wolf and flock;
There can't be ease between the hawk and hare.
There can't be better fit than key and lock;
There can't be better match than ma and care.

So told them, arrant—we who stand in ruin—
That bargain can't be struck for lash and back,
Or settle not the scores on blood so soon,
Nor hunt the hare and bitten piece-meal sack.

Again we ask—is key and lock our way,
Shall we be hand in hand, within lockstep?
Again we ask—is spear and boar our lay,
Forever, end to end, on side and wept?

So, call for show of hands for shallow deaths,
Or call for show of hands for easy breaths.




Sonnet 2: The Radicals' Response

Or call for show of hands for easy breaths?
This way, the kings have fed on us so long.
Our grains of blood were woven into wreaths;
Our silent pain became disdainful song.

Like bed bugs, they have dried and ****** our blood;
A greedy vermin makes no truce with food.
And, pushed in ground—for we are only mud—
So, call for pyres to burn, and fetch the wood.

So, melt the lock, for key is broken, stuck.
The spear must drain the boar, for winter comes.
So, march in lockstep, as we need to pluck
The monster heads for whom this song we hum.

So, call for show of hands for strangled breath.
The call for show of hands for estate death.




Sonnet 3: Regret at the Revolution’s End (Robespierre's death)

The call for show of hands for estate death!
And now we end the path of blood we took.
As skulls became the cobblestones we tread;
In name of drop, how rivers bled from rook.

The crown we broke in two now grins at graves,
As liberty devours her fairest son,
With ******, jagged teeth and smiles of knaves;
Reminds of fight where only blade has won.

So many boars were drained, that spear-head broke,
And monster heads now drop in prayers, quite,
To add the last of drops to rills we woke.
The chains we forged from melted words we smite.

Deceived as wolf and flock by freedom's lock,
There can't be peace between the wolf and flock.

I will take the imperfect you, my sweet
If you will take the imperfect me too
I can take the imperfect incomplete
If you can take all I can hand to you
Accepting all the imperfect in me
Accepting all the imperfect in you
Completing hearts, is it asking for we?
Completing two hearts, love could be our hue
Why did we choose this, how long will it last?
Chances are risky, accept the challenge
Creation before us, give it a chance
Know that we love each, we find our balance
Let's chance it together, may we not fall
But if we do fall, we gave it our all

I take the stand to make this bold decree:
In you has beauty fully taken form.
Were I created but to witness thee,
The judgement would be made were I unborn.
Yet I would give up all that heaven gave
And take a lesser charge from far below,
To hang among the twelve, if that could save
A peer the jury dared not claim to know.

A single mote of dust may tip the scales,
As every drop disturbs the deepest pool.
But who in lieu of gold with dust regales,
While all who thirst and drink have found renewal?
If you alone are all that this has swayed,
A seraph of an angel has been made.

She lies unclothed, asleep at dawn’s first light,  
Her skin aglow, a summer’s warm embrace.  
Between two hills, a sparrow’s fleeting flight,  
A whispered secret, hidden in that space.  

A garden lush, untamed, where beauty grows,  
Its solitude, a treasure softly kept.  
Her inner thighs, where velvet’s gentleness flows,  
Like grooves on records where her movements slept.  

The curve of her, a dancer’s arm in air,  
A peach’s sweetness, yielding, lush, and deep.  
Her petals bloom, a rose beyond compare,  
Within, the heart of the bloom it keeps.  

The inguinal fold, a butterfly’s plume,  
A feather’s mark on clay, a fragile trace.  

And yet, too beautiful for me, she’ll drift away,  
Yet in my heart, her beauty’s here to stay.  
Her splendor burns, a flame I fail to hold,  
In dreams, her folds forever I behold.

Like an unbuttoned blouse, she hangs in sky,
Her shifting phases tease with lust’s delay.
Her light, a lover’s touch, brushes my thigh,
Her tides rise, fall, and leave me cold, astray.
Her light finds my door with unknown intent,
As night fades, dawn’s horizon drinks her deep.
Secrets, stolen, through her rapture sent,
A warm liqueur spills where earth lies asleep.
She pulls like tides that steal the shore’s embrace,
My secrets, stolen, fuel her sweet release.
Her hunger takes, yet leaves no hiding place,
As earth drinks deep her moonlit, stolen peace.
Oh, moon, a temptress, caught in your thread,
You weave the night, leave me naked in your bed.