Ending Horrors

He woke yet again, wearing his few hours of sleep, woven like lead upon his shoulders.

And, he knew the weight of hate that waited for him, before he spoke.

Yet, he felt more than knew that the hate was his to bear, his to walk though many that could not stand him.  Indeed, those jealous, without courage, those without intelligence, those guided by strings from the masters.

Why would anyone run into the flames for fame?

Could someone climb the stairs destined to fall that cared only about themselves?

What possible self-preservation required anyone to give their very breath trying to help a stranger?



Or, Self?

Is there anyone better than the average?

Someone rising beyond themselves to help someone less than?

You smaller ones, so jealous, so loud.  Anger your cloak, so delicate you are.
Louder, more righteous, like a small dog barking at the dark?

When true death wraps you?
When true pain kisses you?
When you know you are naked and alone?

Who will you cry to in your moments of final alone?

Who will you hope to attend to, for your delicate and universal ones?

Can you know strength, true courage, if all the world, all the universe, is only true in our mind?

So weak. So inviting of destruction.


What can the weakest, loudest, protesting for all to expect, but

The end.