An empty canister strolled across crying for tea,

The kettle choked with soot lay smothered in somnolence,

The knight in his shining armour valiantly

Put up his final fight from the fading tapestries.

The sun refused to fracture through the intricate cobwebs,

Beetles declined to be satiated by the chesterfield,

The flickering lightbulb was yet unsure about

Whether to live to see yet another day or flip dead.

The mahogany danced with the sputtering flames,

The table lamp bent over the open diary

Waiting to resuscitate the heiligenschein,

The inkpot, carefully polished, forever anticipated the pen.

A handsome face peered back into the Hollows,

Past the raptures, the despairs and beyond.

A drop crawled down her bridge, smudging the eyes.

Her wail shattered the Peace as War beckoned.


The brow tightened, fingers curled in prolepsis,

As Misgivings hugged him in close embrace.

Compunctions fought Purpose and lost,

A greater cause would need the ultimate catharsis.

The lectern was steadied as banners fluttered,

The humdrum grew to a dissonant approval.

While subversive overtones

attained mellifluence, a frail figure emerged.

As the enfeebled man took his dais, left arm raised,

Silence plagued the swarm with its cadence.

“You may lose your friends but never your foes

The World is not your comrade.

Your lives will never matter; they tell you every day

Die for the Cause to paint an echo to remain.”

The lead agreed as it nestled in his head.

The fingers had curled through with little delay.


Sunlight filtered through the misguided casements,

As stanchions guarded the chesterfield against disuse,

The blanched knight in fading armour

Secured, now wore the glass veil as an ornament.

The roof and floors had been re-laid and painted,

The lighting was now a reliable monotone,

The humdrum grew without the overtones

As the swarm made their way to the frame.

The haggard face peered back to the future he helped create

With perhaps a lingering air of melancholy

His eyes still flecked with emotion and passion though

As ‘Freedom and Liberty’ were no longer dead.

For as long Man lives, He will find a Greater Deed

And men will die for It as to Fight is to Live,

But as I left what was now a museum, I mused,

It was History, not Liberty that He had achieved.


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