Here, upon bark, smoke embers from fire,
Armour of soldiers from the erstwhile wood.
Myopic men with heedless desires
Ravage their slaves for the greatest of good.
Beads of remorse take passage on cheeks;
Meander down from a tortuous line.
Born forlorn, unfastidious freaks;
Gorging antecessors spill brine from wine.
Reminiscent of that prior state;
One picker condemns other men to fail,
And taunted by their prospective fates
They too attempt for the Holy Grail.
In the flood the arc reset the board.
Enabled, some pieces reassembled.
My request: please, re-submerge us, Lord –
Of that prior state the world resembles.
Written circa September 2013
© Copyright of A.C. Stark