Again the pity dwarfs push forward, foolishness winning,
hands of stubby pointing fingers,
only the smell of yesterday lingers.
Deep in his electricity he knows it is time
for violent end without the encore new beginning.
The hand that once rewound the wires and replaced the worn-out wheels,
usually knew which value to adjust
which of the settings he could trust;
if that hand be severed from the soul that powers it
can it still claim to own the stinging gratification that it feels?
The fire or cliff, the gas that seeps in one last time,
storm plays out, the thunder finished,
breaths of pain finally diminished,
there are good reasons for even this cold desire;
back then too soon but maybe now is long past time.
if you feel the sunshine only with feeble outstretched hand,
when does the going get too rough?
Does it not seem you have had enough?
Why should suffering so endlessly be suffered?
Close your eyes, go ahead and jump, see where you land.
He knew this winter had sure enough discovered his flaws,
till he could no longer stand, uncaring,
in the flimsy shirt that he was wearing;
while yet another storm swirled all around him
as described in ancient unwritten laws.
He could summon the rage only once more he knew,
that effort would be the end of him this time.
The only reminders left behind
were a sack full of blue heartache tightly tied,
and the card of destiny he finally drew.