Become beholden to who you wish to be.
In egotistical wants and whims I shall be known.
The world on high shall grant my wishes,
and bow down beneath my earthly desires.
In that moment, the face of death raises a weary finger.
Its white bone stands proud against the dark cloak
that wraps itself around a fleshless frame.
A second, he asks.
For what?
Maybe a minute of your precious time?
Are you so sure? You must be existence, he asks.
Do you believe yourself to be more than man?
The question hangs in the air,
waiting for an answer, which doesn't come.
Piercing screams reverberate around the quiet streets,
glass shatters and pierces the face of this once proud man
as twisted steel of shapes and moulds formed in faraway countries,
where stars sit in unfamiliar quadrants of the night sky,
is crushed under boxes and crates,
set upon a truck that rushes to meet a deadline
for morning markets, when a middleman looks for the greatest gain.
Quietness resumes.
The stillness once again comes
to the destitute night streets of a long forgotten town,
and still no answer.
