as the season change and the years drip down

sympathy dries, it too exhausted by tempting draught

of coming undone, to tear up and jerk off virtue

in thought alone, perhaps not quite all there

nerve wrecking to make that good from effort

devoted to intent and meant to be had at sunrise

in steady course, make no haste with a merry belly

fulfilled and in control, no space for sadness and unrest

abundant appears to be a dying breed

my hands betrays me

my lips conceal poorly

what my eyes perceived so far

as far as it could it caved in

carved in hell with bespoken truth

so-and-so anew the cycle repeats

the hunger persists for it cannot ever escape

I believe tragedy cannot be extinguished 

for the lessons are not truly ours to be taken apart

this flame a beacon for future generations to dismember

from a distance when solid history has taken root

and peace forcedly stricken a weightless state

or so I hope.