Lost Pilate
I am the scribe who spends my day fixing angles to a pin
yet in night dreams I spill my seed despoiling Seraphim.
I am the pilot holding fast to a course that cannot win
I am the finger on the trigger to loose the dread Sarin
but through it all I only feel this icy cold within
and pride in duty honoured, is this my greatest sin?
Copyright © D.W. Rodgers | Year Posted 2017
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