Battlements

I sit within,

Embarking my awareness from the caustic gloss and marked din.

My sins are a reminder

Of the times I spent,

In dwelling with regret, and yet

I settle somber

As a bombardier;

Accosting of the loss

And my lament.

And sensing scent of testaments,

A sending of my sentiments addressed to mention it;

Of the bossiness and loss

I called upon; resented;

Drawing dawns with fawning over

Platitudes and battered pawns;

Apologies for rattling my saber later;

Praying over battlements, habits,

Habitat

And chattering demands endangered.

A stranger to the heards, am I.

A lesson that is mentioned till demented,

Meant my treasures are all weaponized.

Decrying my deceit;

Denying all that seemed so soft, aloft, and sour-sweet;

I deemed the ocean and it's waves retreating,

Now beseeching what remains,

That I can practice prattled reaching,

By the means of saddlebags I stuffed with chattle brands and dour teachings.

Do I mean it?

So it seems.

I dream demeaned, but breathing,

Seeing from my keep the stipulations

I bequeathed;

The reasons I decreed;

The seasons and their scheming messes, Left enmeshed with seething greed.

And less I test the mettle of my meddling,

I only know the messages received;

Dwelling in reprieve.

Welling up with wishes

I could kiss the valley of the deep.