The Coward's Throne

By inconclusive dogma of retreat

have I abandoned all my poems of thought,

left them to sit and gather dust in heaps,

crumbling away in my mind, all but lost.

By waywardness and folly have I slain

the heart inside me, begging to be strong,

and slunk back into shadows, wholly vain,

to weep over my apathy in Song.

What irony can greater be than this?

that I should seek out of myself what God

hath granted from beginning as within

the temple of the human, bound and strong.