As Ever Like the Sun & Moon at War

1- ☼☼☼

The chains so rattle, stringing him along

behind the horses of the caravan

with sharp and cruel tugging to prevent

him catching but a moment of repose

and itch and irritate his shackled skin

until his wrists and ankles bleed beneath

the cuffs that chafe and paint his bronze a red.

It's under these conditions that he's forc'd

to toil whilst the sun applies its heat—

its signature affliction over Earth—                    10

and whilst the men ahead sip water from

the bottles hanging from their shoulder straps

they tease our Pilgrim—lips so crack'd—with drink,

a glist'ning clear elixir out of reach;

and when they turn to check their captive game

belligerent excoriation flies

relentless in its deconstruction of

identity and self-esteem that hath

been slipping ever slowly since he first

departed from his home to find a new                   20

location whereupon he could begin

to piece himself into a man anew.

When comes the flaming sun upon its peak

the bandits slow and choose a place to rest—

an overhang of rock that shades the sand

below to offer respite for the hooves

of horses and of course protagonist,

whose feet are throbbing with an aching pulse.

Here now the Leader doth examine him,

commanding to the man who's standing guard                   30

to hand the chain to him and leave them be.

"How goes it?" asks the Leader merrily,

to which our Pilgrim glares and here responds:

"Thy company have been a friendly gang

and treated me like I'm a seated king."

The Leader sneers at this, replying with:

"Thou'dst do thyself a favour showing me

respect, so cast away that mocking tone

and change thy words t'refer to me more fine."

Our Pilgrim furrows brow and feigns surprise,                  40

for knows he well the danger he is in,

and so he lies t'assuage the man displeas'd

with him, and to excuse his grating words:

"Apologies, thou see I only use

this language as thou art a single one

and not a many persons needing more