[Untitled 1]

Lifeless, but never knew otherwise.

Craven still the heart marshals its total,

The soul a cavity, its will a sting

Faltering both blade and bone ‘pon brow

Kissed raw of all wisdom, in Caskets borne,

Inheritance in gifts carv’d from her swell.

A canopy of song not made to store

But wreathed o’er the weepings of fresh blood

By Nature the perished stropped featureless,

Yet of self the edge’s cowardice bears

Sugar o’er the bosom denied its reward

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