The bell still tolls
for fear of silence.
Traditions tempered
in forges of before
still hold.
Rhythm is maintained
to blunt mad disarray.
All aspic form
against forlorn decay.
The watch is manned
along the curtain walls,
by guardians of habit
whose duty is to drown
the ancient dark --
grim forces of futility
gather with the hours,
and should our fortress fall,
emptiness devours.
John Walter Taylor
© All rights reserved
19 October 2026
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