Content or complacent
The words that whole nations sent
Teetering on edge
Debate of all the hem and hedge
Plunging down cliffside oceans
For fear of others’ heaving shuns.
I would not call you pent
But I think that we could name you spent
Rent or wrote on broken arms
Contentment is triumphant harm
Rendered at the end of wrestling gods—
Beyond the scope of mortal nods.