Absence of light in his eyes,
Extinguished long ago
By the very people
Who could have kindled it –
Cared for him as a
Precious gift.
Some stories don’t end
The way we might wish,
Meandering in some awful
Direction instead,
Consuming themselves and us –
Unconscious coldness.
He doesn’t lack certainty,
Absolutely sure that
Hardness is the best path
To everything, it’s
What he knows, the only
Thing he recognizes.
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