Wiles Of Wine (Shadow)

Wits laden the incensed wine.

Over mulled, unbraced.

Pits deepened with now sourer wiles.

Slower tolled clinks - fazed.

Bespectacled Boy

Cry not boy for your fallen heros.

Their yellow flame torched and touched.

Lacked no vigour - but stronger the foes.

It’s just a game for a name that juggles fame.

Shed a tear and agonize brief.

Trust not much a hope, and fudge.

It alters no fate, prolongs the grief.