‘Hamartia’ what gives you cause, to weep alone
To invite thought to reason down truth’s ill made path.
Why do you make such choice; of which wrong, seems so prone?
Or suggest your right to words invent of heated wrath.

To create that quodlibet, mind gives but small intent
Yet by virtuous deeds are they not times tuyère.
Where deception’s desire grieves its lonely torment
That gives genesis, to cohibitions; despair.

As blood-red ink, flows from its insurgent debate:
Its dieresis, graves mute rage in a penned page;
Finds citations that others too may so relate:
Where eutrapelia hones, its now artless, assuage

So ephemera can enervate their weak applause:
To let words, seek relief, from such: a tragedy of flaws.

Mor.