The Enemy of My Friend is My Enemy

The thought struck once, unrhymed,
Like chimes in an ancient clock
Tall and winding time
Around the barrel stock
Grinding down these crimes
Echoing aftershocks

I speak; I flinch; I cower
Waiting, pulling my lame limbs
Like heavy bags of flour
Time and again,
For fleeing rest and failing power
Accent whispers of my sin

Where I fail, what I am-
Grotesques! Skewed representations-
He delights to liken me to Him
Despite deep complications
An enemy wages battle grim,
Spitting salted accusations-

And I must not listen.