Toward Doom

The ship whylom passed by the midday sun,
Gashing the mortal waters of the Thames
Into an open wound, from whence were come
A throng of unsightly crystalline gems.
Full sped these did fall with sinister might,
Angels close upon them to apprehend;
But the clouds above encumbered their flight.
Conspiracy wrought my fate to attend,
And thus did angels return to their God.
The pier approached, all decked in foreboding,
And I, drenched in shame and the river's clod
And bound up fast by irons and loathing,
Was led up the stairs to my future years--
The snow-white stone giant, destroyer of cheers.

7/13/07