HUBRIS

 

 

His eyes are glittering in his shrunken face;

his gestures tense.

All day he runs and runs

and cannot find sanctuary for his corruscated soul,

not on the treadmill,not with his private priest;

not in the arms of his wife

who bears her own tormented dreams.

 

‘Out, out, vile spot!”

 

No comfort can be found in all they own,

or in all  his frantic business.

He tries to find peace with in

but he can not.

 

For Awe and Terror cannot be forgot.

 

He can’t escape the horror of what he did,

or those that he drew in.

At war within himself he plunders the world anew

and clamours again for war

disguised

as peace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

c)   Ingrid Andrew <> Hearts Song

 

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