ill-compromise

putting aside your honesty
one minute
increases your consistency
deficit;
one drop of blood upon the spotless
blanket
to ruin has brought your poise and no less
stank it.
 
reneging on your empathy kicks
justice
into the gutter waters where nix
trust is;
though perfectly you meld your hard-bricks
poultice,
no contradiction boasts a quick-fix
hospice.
 
if love should fall asleep beside your
pillow,
what were those waking hours to you, poor
fellow,
when, in the dark, your sweats bled each hour
hollow?
let care not sleep, in pity no more
wallow.
 
and what if your sole life its last breath
fired,
because one morn your soul felt so death
tired
it could afford no depth, underneath
wired,
drowning where its own tears availeth,
mired?
 
© Copyright 2021 August 28
by Clyve A. Bowen♫