Victor

How old shall I be then?

a victor, placed

away than, farther on the Isle

than my friends, for

I shall have lost

Eternity by the slip of a hand,

the mere jerk of tears

falling silent as they are

manifestations of disquiet,

and turmoil in the heart

shows forth in rags

worn, self-imposed

humiliation at egregious failure.

 

Thus I shall have lost,

though victor of myself, somehow,

also my captor, also

my chain.

10/21/2016

Richmond

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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2018

atazargarof@gmail.com

BC, Canada