not the desperate thrashings of drowning sailors
shipwrecked on the sea
nor the glistening gashes of midnight werewolves
too deep to ever heal
nor the horror of a dreaded headline
you would have chosen not to read;

no, rather, a dull endurance.
that of

a thread-bare carpet in the hallway
once glorious at your feet
rusted signs in village squares
marked by dogs and weeds
constant in long duty
waking bone-dead from their sleep.

serving sovereign subjects

unheard, untold, unseen.