Day 99 of 100 Poems/100 Days


The leader plays the folly,
runs uphill to shout down,
and calls his canons to roar.

Nine friends remain with him,
as children, the boys were bullies,
but now as men they are friends.

They can see the ocean coming,
the waves crashing against the gates,
and the nine pull on his limbs,
in fear, for safety,
as if his life
could keep them from drowning.

And so they stab him,
over and over again,
because one time can never be enough,
when nine times are so easy.

They sit on his chest,
on his last breath,
sailing, far,
away, from the city,
from their memories as children,
and from the graveyards,
the nine men on the one,
to counterweight the ocean.


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