• The Nobleman of Ilijan


    Our house of cards topples
    while whirlwinds desolate.
    We deconstruct our grief-
    enmeshed capacities;

    Look there—wheredoes this lead?
    The pang of dread that lays
    far beyond the sullen
    roads drenched in mimicry

    of unfamiliar strain.
    Whereto, my love, does all
    this effort sublimate?
    Our children’s children

    grow weary, their stubborn
    youths powerless to boot.
    Our feet are planted deep
    in gratitude of you.


    Please follow our commenting guidelines.

    Comments are closed.