Numerating, naming, knowing,
Of a past less glowing,
Disclosed by a crystal curvature through which he’s gazing,
Gazing out of opprobrious overwhelming.

One seeks refuge in this compass;
A lone lightman engendering this rumpus,
While the soiree slights its existence
Neglecting the necropotenical power at hand.

They face not the fear fermenting from below.
For them, such mockery is an ostentatious show.
But those that accuse, those that are callous,
Shall be the first to fall to this terror’s malice.

He picks the most perfect fruit from the fete,
And culls her away - eludes and metes.
He hides his face well,
Transcending both time and hell.

Two eyes stare into the realm of two more,
Communicating between two glossy pools of war,
The impenetrable wall so ghastly held,
That no force may topple the faultless meld.

He tries, oh how triumphantly he tries,
To see into those enveloping eyes,
But he collapses inside as his efforts fall,
To the drudge of an impervious wall.

And what a wall,
So graciously enamored by hook and shawl.
Fine strands of tissue and remission -
Commands of quiescence and cessation.

This one, the only never to fall,
Such a magnificent structure, her wall.
Rage and fury engulf the rampart,
Ramifying into voluminous parts.

From within he draws a steel blade,
And echoing the mourns of a hundred laid,
Embeds the tool through a trifle heart,
Twisting, turning, twirling through betwixt parts,
Ever disdainful and blithe,
As he washes his hands free of the seeds of life.