conquest is a panacea of the past, in lives too lost to last..
to conquer my pompous mask I can’t face the waste I trash.
lashing out will not bring peace nor light or love so sweet,
when next that we should meet I pray to be back on my feet as cool in
summer heat with no thought of defeat-
open to the golden rule with time to share our weathered cares and
turn the other cheek, let me hold your hand and mend as we walk the
way back when.