Thanks to John for teaching me how to clean up this formatting.
The king holds the kingdom. Here find
Black stones marking graves, light-clutching fog
And the gods of strange doorways. The year slips from our hands.
Days dissolve. The river swallows
The salt of the sea and is no longer itself.
The bones of bodies, buildings and nations
Will fall to dust, with none but a gleaming few
Flickering in memory. While we walk earth,
The soft lips of women haunt, the troubled eyes of men tempt.
* * *
The wicked rule this world.
The good must cling
Te every advance.
Yet in death I will miss
The good, the beautiful, the true;
But also the smooth savagery
Of tongues.