Post, derivative

[Freezy]

A nation of late bloomers - black
periphery upon their heads
paved the incision of their Achilles’ heel,
on principles alone: their country
takes no prisoners, so let them be
left to their own devices -
‘til the ghost is clear.

I can’t see anybody
as being dear to me.
I am just an inhabitant here,
and not a servant
to fervent musings
or demons -
so as long as I am alive
or kept in line
by a guardian light that has no sense
of premonition.

Warnings go from poetry to prose,
and the stargazers seek for the dominion
of the scattered descendants;

the terrestrial outlet, to a certain degree.

Their favours are now gone;
it’s too late to read between the lines:
Oh God!

A nation of immobility - bewildered
but kept abased by their own shadow:
it will kill them with time.
The custom has not changed;
the shrines remain colour-coordinated,
unlike the people:
black periphery upon their heads
no matter what they do!