Neverfold

The blows were meant to bend my spine,
the glares to blind the fervent eyes.
Betrayers dressed in saviours’ suit
grew wary of my free pursuit.
They love corruption, love disorder;
bloodline dripped off Ames and Cawdor.
Scarcely can they wait to see
an outbreak of my misery.
‘Et tu brute’ may I shriek
or strike back upon each Sadiq?

I shine heart’s firmness through my face.
Authenticity steams my voice.
No words or wealth can trade disgrace.
I don’t think twice to make the choice.
Insecure myopic bugs,
that ramble anxious lanes to hell,
smile through dark delusional dreams
and die before their waking knell.