Limestone armour,
and chipped wounds
You
stand
searching
The sulphuric horizon,
Maybe only you can see,
Maybe only you can hear-
Beyond the boundaries of Distance.
Maybe you’ll find,
What you left behind-
The ephemeral pleasures
of conquering
your
First love, or
A Friday night whore.
But then you wouldn’t
Stand
A Hero,
With a pigeon-shit framed name.
And you wouldn’t fulfil
The purpose-
Of reminding us new-age seeds
About the
Golden-Era Greats
Sizzling in the morning dew.
And your youth and calibre
Forever embedded by a
Craftsman’s hand,
Remains more than human
But Less than life.
You are a Masterpiece
Mighty and broken,
In the hollow wind-
You
Stand
Searching,
Alone.