Jul 19, 2020 14:16
Progress
The gales were clamorous throes of derision
threshing across our split and deceitful knuckles,
splaying the remnants of a rook’s contumely
upon our eardrums.
Our vision blotted,
dense and ruddy with the ire of a renounced ancestor.
lj idol,
poetry
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There is so much implied in just this line, and it all rests on the unexpected use of 'deceitful.'
This speaks to me of a battle hard fought against a legacy that needs to be outgrown. The blotted vision at the end seems like physical vision--the result of an attempt to blind people with the 'heritage' of prior wrongs against the truth. But they can choose to wipe their eyes clean, and I believe they will.
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