Interlace 1

I would defend your honor, if I could:

There’s now a pressure on my eyes,
That makes my vision blurry;

And send benighted temper, with its hood,

As lately, I would realize,
It’s dangerous to scurry –

To where it never bothers you again –

As constantly, mortality
Surrounds, and I’m aware:

And be a guard for you among all men

The unimpaired finality
That’s always looming there

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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