my qualms
aggregrate
only after i
give in,
only after i
hear misanthropic
voices
that blind and gag
common sense.
i've mislaid
all the faith
fought for
in tunnels of
darkness,
and all that surrounds
are limestone caves
even geologists have
vacated.
relief is not a promise
engraved on cavern walls,
but regret?
regret is a speleothem,
a blunt formation that defies
gravity and avouches the
historic ruin i have inspired,
