Until the End

Though I hanker nothing for that feeling Of impotence turned inward till, frustration, Brewed bowel deep and in bile rises, choking, Forcing out from throat a broken croaking. And still I find I ask. Why? Why can't I bring to recollection, one single, and would be, precious moment, though recall - crystal in its clarity scouring memory's halls - lays all bare before foul scrutiny, where I was not in fear of you? Why? When, of what exuberant energy youth is given, All was spent! Up and to its smallest measure. Determination matched only by the aching yearning, in trying to become like you. Why, and why again, Did all sight of me, welcome just a burning fury? And blistered spirit, bruised and battered crumbling will. Fool I was, and am now still. Who chose to hide from a world too real. And after little sighs and practised folding hands, Slumber slipped slow into coma. Till Hammer! Hammer! Three decades later. Need, with mercy none and armed to teeth, broke upon my door, sole bent on ending me. Grievously armed, those machinations of my own making, whose only purpose is to crush. That, the sum of which a perfect craft complete, matchless in design to bring at last to sleep, and slake the lifelong bloodlust. That when, spirit’s bone stripped bare of flesh, my Soul, Then at the end of all forgotten lies, At last sees my demise.