The Coffer And The Noose

The Coffer and the Noose
Were the bequests from the Nether-world
To the man of promise,
To the same yet impatient.

The Coffer of Avarice, shiny,
Reflected the desires of his ocular
Desires base, desires vain,
Desires alluring all the same

The ugly and the brown,
Noose with thirteen spirals,
Lay untended, on the fringes of consciousness,
But patiently, waited,
Hungrily, yawning.

In poured the treasures
Of deeds inlicitus
Yet the Twistian Coffer asked for more
Eternally unsatiated.

Until the Noose could wait no longer
For esu was calling
For esu was beckoning
For esu was waiting
To pay the ultimate sovereign

In the domicile of the buzzards,
From the bough of the ancient ligneous cenotaph,
The man of promise,
He hung, he swung.

Swinging, swinging
Swinging from the Noose of twisted hemp
Strewn bowels, swinging too
Swinging, swinging
Swinging the arc of death

The clouds swung too
Swung low
Broken-hearted, they burst and wept for
The swinging man of promise
But not the chariots; they never came.
The man of promise,
Walked with the master
But dined with the monster…

At the bottom of the Coffer of his Avarice
Chinked the coin like the sound of a knell
The ultimate sovereign,
The price for which his soul he sold,
Had been paid.

But where had all the rest gone?

AKPOVETA, Valentine ‘t

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