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Eidolon
The welcome eidolons that through our conscience flow,
bidden by times of trouble and the skills we lack
in order to withstand relentless whips that crack
over our heads on a daily basis; fears grow.
Even restless spirits that manifest soft glow,
the portent that’s announced by the ravens as black
as the crafts that are punishable on the rack,
professed their intentions pure as the driven snow.
Hold fast to your daydreams for if these dreams should die
Life’s a broken-winged bird which can no longer fly.
Life is a barren field so others may seed thoughts,
aimed at breaking our will which can’t withstand eerie
spectre of ambitions as we become weary
of ambiguous praise; their fawning comes to nought.
Copyright ©
Suzette Richards
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