In vino veritas, this veritas fleeting as;
Spring’s first snow once the sun kisses earth;
Goblet once filled with transcendence and rebirth;
Lips which uttered words of allure when time was young;
Same lips of infidels touch the brassy countenance and murmur death to her, death to her heart.
Her spirit touched the guillotine with his first words. Vexed, incoherent, perplexed. This fate she accepted soul wide open.
Journey to conquered strongholds where summits never meet;
The chalice now empty, it’s power obsolete.
(Illustration: Sophonisba receiving the poisoned chalice – Vouet Simon)