I rule no legions risen from the deep, Command no weapons larger than a knife. In darkest night, I stay in bed and sleep. I would not fit a supervillain's life. Nor do I rage against a rotten world, Nor seek to breathe the putrid scent of sin. I've sense enough to keep my feelings curled, And deep and cold, drown thoughts they flourish in. I honour clocks and roads, and do not stray. I hold my counsel close — to nothing swear. My fears and dreams are safely locked away Within my past. Not even I know where. But questions haunt me still, and will not die: What was I then? How did I end it? Why?
This is my response to the Daily Post prompt for “Vice”. I suspect vice should be dealt with at the source, if it exists. :-)