A CASTLE, A DUNGEON

A CASTLE, A DUNGEON


In his castle you live;
you quickly re-write the line.
In his castle you hang around, on struts and trellis,
his conquest,his P.O.W.
justification still being wrung, line the women washing clothes
at the river, wrung from a withered, and flaked scenario.

Fiction and reality, flashes by in the same frame,
a two side mirror.
sold, down the river, on a day you care not
to remember. On a day when you had few options:
on a day when desperation parched your throat;
on a day when it seemed a fair gamble,

on a day when you weren’t suppose to have a conscience.
so, you retain your balance on trembling trellis,
and buckling struts,
pride drying up up your tear ducts,
no messing up your powered face,
can't allow the world to see the asking price,

for a skewed crown,
as you balance self, back up again.