My echoes reminisce on distant droplets seas,
Spies return from yet a mission;
Cowled in albatross and grey,
The emissaries find their target.
Fleeting shadows mark their position,
Hastening, halting, calculating;
Muscles flow and following through
Like an endless Zeno's paradox.
The blood fills my gaps,
Falling, falling, losing warmth;
Low now, pain is but a memory
Of a surprise neither warranted, nor guaranteed.
They walk away now, briskly;
I slump against the marble crimson notch.
Shadows pass before my eyes
And all for ye, Brutus;
Veni, Vidi, Vici, Abeo.
2 years ago