New poem: Clocktower Blitz

feed.xml

@@ -9,6 +9,61 @@
 		<name>Vane Vander</name>
 		<email>vanevander@mayvaneday.org</email>
 	</author>
+	
+	<entry>
+		<title>Clocktower Blitz</title>
+		<link href="https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/c/clocktower.txt" />
+		<id>https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/c/clocktower.txt</id>
+		<published>2022-04-06</published>
+		<summary type="html"><![CDATA[<article>
+<pre>
+Please, my love, come home unharmed.
+It's been almost a month since I
+found you injured, limping, on a farm
+half-familiar, glowing hearth.
+We've been here before- or, at least, I have,
+wandering in sprawling fields
+trying to find homebound path.
+
+Because isn't that
+what this is all about?
+Trying to find the way back home
+despite all those who've declared
+themselves roadblocks, obstacles.
+Each of us condemned to roam,
+sometimes aimless, usually on our own,
+no one to ask us how we fare.
+
+The bloodlust of my youth has faded away.
+I've grown sick of conflict, of battles, of war.
+How can anyone think cold-blooded murder holds glamour?
+I'm sick as an invalid
+two steps in the grave
+of every moment worrying if you're okay.
+
+"If there was a path
+out of this heartbreak
+without suffering any pain,
+believe me,
+Lethe,
+I'd take it in a single breath."
+
+I'd rather die
+than live a thousand lives
+safe but absent from your light.
+But there's nothing I can do
+as you ascend the campus clock tower
+with staff in hand,
+ready and prepared to make a last stand.
+"I need you to know I feel the same.
+Truth be told, I always have.
+I've got a bad limp, but if I get my way,
+you won't have to wait
+much longer."
+</pre>
+				</article>]]>
+		</summary>
+	</entry>
 
 	<entry>
 		<title>Stealing Time</title>
@@ -261,59 +316,6 @@ I, bond-breaking blade?
 and in so many worlds away.
 There are enough armchair Christs.
 Stop self-inflicting pain.*
-</pre>
-				</article>]]>
-		</summary>
-	</entry>
-
-	<entry>
-		<title>Driven To Death</title>
-		<link href="https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/d/driven.txt" />
-		<id>https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/d/driven.txt</id>
-		<published>2022-03-09</published>
-		<summary type="html"><![CDATA[<article>
-<pre>
-"What's an operating system?"
-Whether they were being serious, I could never tell,
-but the question always hung over me like death's bell.
-
-And although camp is now disbanded and dead,
-still rings in a disused hall in my head
-the words penned on whiteboard in striking red:
-
-while all other girls were so much praise shot
-about their skills, their quests, their help,
-only written for me: "I guess she smiles a lot."
-
-And when I complained that I had put in
-more effort but barely anything received,
-Mom marched me to apologize
-even though in my eyes
-I had committed no crime.
-
-Just be happy with what you've got,
-with the crumbs we've thrown your way;
-never demand the more you're due,
-just smile and bear the pain.
-
-Just smile and bear the pain
-of being a prototype, forging the way
-to brothers to be done right, to be done at all,
-listened to, heard, given right to complain,
-and you yourself cast aside
-to either be shown up or prepared to die.
-
-I've failed the test on three separate times,
-so I know for sure I can't legally drive.
-If I need to get somewhere, either I catch a ride,
-call a bus, or gather my breath
-and bike.
-But you're driving me to death.
-You're running me raw.
-Soon, I think, there'll be nothing at all.
-Will you love me then, Mother, with Cheshire smile?
-A lot of what's praised
-and naught else remains.
 </pre>
 				</article>]]>
 		</summary>