Scourge of Tongues
Seared Soul and Spirit
Fetid welts buried deep within.
Trophies of biannual fiestas:
Garlands of Thorns
Crowd the Mantelpiece,
Pantheon to a triumvirate.
Winsome smiles of princely serfs
Spark up nights of melancholy
Scouring the Land,
Treasures for the Lord of the Manor.
Pigeonholes with dated labels
Gleam still in cerebral recesses
Memorializing the noble
Condemning the common.
Fragrance of Amity
Waft through the air
Masking the stench of festering wounds,
scars of insidious battles for honour.
Seasons of Harvest:
Bated breaths suffocate labourers
Castles on tethers of hope sink as
Imminent hopes are slain on the altar of regrets.
Immured in a strange persona
Shackled to a multitude of prejudices,
The Mind groped in solitary confinement
Seeking an escape from a dungeon of Unknowns.