Sink your think-is-best through and through...

    Battle my mind:
This stone-scraped saber
  Hilt of grey,
Its sway once wielded
  Sink your think-is-best
Through and through;
  Chisel your smarts
      Into my chest—
    On acuminous arts,
My spoil is yours to win.
        It’s true,
    I’m thought-beaten thin.
But, then, make war
    On my heart?
I take that mountain,
  Star-scorched, duty-scored
      And molten-made,
  Warned you fairly
Against spurious spade:
    You’re better to sip
  Its foothill dew
And to feign a great fiction
    On a little lore;
For that toilsome,
  Turn-back-now trip,
You’re ten-thousand too few—
    Maybe much more.

Previous Post:
    Poetry: Throwback: Lofty Guess

0 comments on “monolith

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: