738. Untitled

[hes]

It's a silent mantra
of unspoken words
that are counted voicelessly
in a vain and vicious hope
against the words mete out --
like an incantation against time.

Over and over again,
the droning words
fade into the distance --
an endless supply of patience
to be drawn upon
like a battered shield
in the flurry of disappointments
and displeasures.

Uses the seventh prompt: incant, supply, mete from moosemeister