a stricture, law laid down a thousand years
ago by men who, staid, reflected in their rule
to measure out your lifetime’s endless fears
and guard your soul alone from passion’s cruel

attentions. ‘twixt the law and lore they cite
the dual nature, right and wrong - the dark,
they say, eternally opposed to light:
so must the weak depend upon the strong.

thus ever-fixed the righteous path they spake,
and never from this judgement ever stray
your charted coursing from dead-reckoned wake -
but only corpse and statue static stay.

for change is life, she whispers close to me
when, mirrored, sweetly smiling, her I see