Forsaken from Foursquare
Images from below borrow I, My Son,
Resembling the latent risk required,
Hoped we to happen not,
Yet—tragedy—images indicative
Of My present darkest hour:
From its crypt
Wriggles the snake of blackness
As the burning match
Loosing liberty
Sets it free.
To the burn
Dance the ephemeral sparks of impudence
Built of slow-suffered wish,
Unsuppressed, unsublimated, undenied,
Entranced of latitude
By heart’s basest desire.
Speak I.
Ticks the clock.
Much have I to ask of you,
My Son most dear—a favor such that
Prospect will rebound
With every proper scope that jets with joy—
And yet—
The choices of all intelligent creation
In the circumferences of freedom
Now hang in balance.
_______