Interrogation, outmoded,

the demoted torturer

suddenly realises,

Google surmises,

taxation – a myth

we wish

did not exist.





When I am a relic,

my life become yore,

young gods will wake

and whisper of war.


When I am a memory

you cease to explore,

your gods will take

their leave like before.


When I am a legend,

grief’s guarantor,

the gods you forsake

will forgive the flaw.


When I am a myth,

dismissed and no more,

old gods will break

Like waves on the shore.