The Emergent Sea

Meridian man, 
Heir of a lacklustre revolution,
Where is his prime mover?
One final spin for absolution.

Jejune man,
Casting in his lot,
A pittance to go among the travellers,
Prostrate before the gates of Motte.
Mocking man,

Turns his face to the dust,
Laying down his possessions,
His pauldrons lost to rust.
All break their backs on the wheel,
The wretched are thrown clean off,

Dragged up again by the reel,
Smacked blue into the surreal,
Pulled screaming from the rough.
Man and man and man alike.