A man is made mythic by a circular mind
The wheel that keeps time
And transforms him to memories,
Then to thoughts of what will be.
All that was, soon becomes
Raven-shaped shadows cutting holes from above
Into the pallor of a white, sunless sky
A feather and stone balanced on either side
Here, we wait while the scales decide.
The mirrored clock, now a metronome
Waves curling and unfurling behind a throne
Where seated and adorned with a blindfold
I hold two swords across my breast,
Ready to face the form that once was flesh.
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