Born to wrath—daft kindled flame

Consigned to scrape the tumbled plane

The churning void, the walls to tend

Entropic well that fell descends

Born to want—wise pyre made

Lept the hollow—stars to fade

The swirling mass, to subjugate

Then to bridge the fuming strait

The firmament, a golden stain

A sequin tapis to mantle-hang

Noble sigil, holo’s bane

The quoin of eternal reign.

One thought on “Quoin

  1. I have utmost esteem for this composition. It’s brings this chthonic asterism to mind, this umbral matter, this meteoric expressionism. I wish you published more poems, Kaiter; to me, they’re brilliant. I’m often accused of my massive rolls of symbols in poetry; I’m told I need more parsimony, and I can’t seem to get it right. I read you, and I understand a bit better what I should inch towards.

    Liked by 1 person

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