The Line

 Exhausted,
by wise kings of old,
taut feeling bound to fearless boundaries,
ensnaring a modicum of restlessness,
to transcend through the age,
expertly without trail to trace the illness back.

Excruciating world of humble, pitied hope,
hold on,
deception at your axis,
the shame of shames,
we cower out of daylight,
as darkness can erase.

Neglected lessons,
paramount to conceptualise thought,
stand still on shady perches,
a robust lack of dignity,
with disdain for questions you have carried.

Liminal,
spitting words under breath the kings ignored,
unwilling to mercifully crucify your understanding,
unwilling to give the grains of time away.