Alea iacta erit [Een dichter]

A trumpeter ascends the hill,
declares the conflict war.

A power-struggle thus begins,
axioms will shatter.

The challenged equilibrium,
once truth, and whole and nothing but,
becomes a battle’s centerpiece.

I am prepared to hold our ground

Despite her

soldiers wearing unobstructed reality
for uniforms.
Mine wear ideals, stone carved convictions
which are unmaneuverable.

Nothing but a Phyrric loss seems possible.