In dead-eye wakeful hours,
in debt, I wait for lours
and censure. Lie-friends, sigh
and send your life-rends. I
am poured out, sold,
and poor doubts old
assail my bankrupt soul.
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A holorime is when whole lines rhyme with each other, as I mentioned
here. The constraints of the form make it really hard to get anything that makes sense, but I think this one might! I think it's about a man who's lost everything, contemplating his state.
"Lours" are glowering looks, and can be spelled "lowers" as well. I chose the -our spelling to make sure people say it right.