Image by Prawny from Pixabay

Is it always there?

Is it the skin I wear or the subtle laborer

who awaits in the peripheral

for the executioner’s turn in affairs?

A square –

a chair in the middle of new venues of despair.

A royal heir and a nightmare to declare.

Opposition is the key

by which it masters entrance.

Breathe in.

Ingest the glacial fire

and dive into the streams

of these sleep deprived dreams

when the course beyond the common walls

blows air with an image it cannot bear.

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