Clemency

Of all these times,
Do not lie to me now,
Admit here that anathema
Of sculpted aspiration.

Your winter denunciation of
That spring-dreamt future
Does not fall now upon deaf ears
Though only some devil
Of a distant hell
Might receive such imprecation
With favored smirk
Or guileless eye.

So unburden yourself now
Of that ill-spent guilt,
Speak plainly in place of
Those penitent lies.
Let Moira’s dice dance
Upon the osseous tableau
And grant clemency
To this end.

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