Since Yet of Late

By
Since yet of late, with all I am, I fear,
The tremors of my soul reveal,
My possessions have lost their appeal.
Since yet of late, I do them bear,
Through the mist of life they stare,
Their tone that forces me to kneel,
By now Liberty seems surreal.
Through the mist of life they glare,
Though they don’t satisfy,
They must be followed to the letter.
Though their evil can be seen though blind eye,
A greater enemy you could not encounter.
So shackled with them I sigh,
Even a fetter would be better.





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