No more even a pretence of fight
A final clamour at salvation.
But, you turn away.
The prick of needle suppressed well
dismissed with a shrug.
The power in your strideheralding surrender.
The Victor (what else)
and the vanquished victim?
Inevitable in the scheme of things -
as you might say.
Oh! But then
What of that, that and that
Lost in the moment
The myriad varied hues of being
that could have been, yet could not be
The waves, springs, swirls and scents
that no longer are, no more can be
The boundless intertwining of spirits that
see the hidden
hear the silent
touch the intangibleknow the unmanifest?