Poem, of Asterion under Clément

Head crooked, sunken blue. Spine fragile and greeting the knees.

Restrained muscles suppressed by mind and mercy.

Do you not see, Master? How frail I truly am?

 

Blue in my skull obfuscated white, wrapped in red.

Blue, white, red, medals laureated by the Master’s words, else blackening fists.

Blue, white, red. Black, the endurance and memories, oh reprieve must violet be for a crooked head.

 

Fruit green-stemmed, golden, ripening.

A hybrid of impatience. Hunger pains.

Wilting leaves, yet ever present.