I Wonder If You Always Tell The Truth

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From The Corner Of My Antique Eye

Theirs was a time of titans;

Of unrelenting progress onward

From the face of an arable age –

An acquiescence which its subjects

Weep in post-epochic codas

By the slanted light that rings

The birthing star they worship still.


A faithfuls’ cross the solitary sign

To occasion the place of their demise,

Tainted and, as yet remains,

Touched only by whose tongues recall

Though eyes no mark of witness bear;

Their given word, a word unknown,

Graces still the mouths of men

Whose single measure of success depends

Upon which side of hell they stand.


Where are they now? the enterprising,

Who, through their changes, dwelt

Enveloped in the compassed awe

Of a populace misunderstanding;

A people who, in innocence, shared

The dream, like many, in the greed of few.


Previous on those winding paths

That verged the verdant-splendoured spring

Of life’s determined range and route

Opposed alone a cloud-eyed sky,

Was found the single circumstance

Wherein all beauty lied.

Yet from the corner of my antique eye,

Uncoiled, I spy the hangman’s noose

Suffocate what remains of truth

In its captious wishing well of wounds,

Lighted by a capsized sun.