Torn

In swift and broad shadow of day,
A filling nod with arms of clay,
Thoughts inside his head are churning,
Deep inside his heart they're burning,
Rising like Bacchus in his ruddy vest

His body and limbs soon be sleeping,
Not a fiber inside him weeping,
A voice deep within him crying,
like the sound of eagles dying,
A world beyond him, laid to rest

A promise under the trees be made,
the guard does with fingers bade,
beyond the hazy and past the vague,
to show the spread of his ancient plague,
and how they swarm like packs of laden pest

A mighty battle fought to save,
such indulgent present the All-Father gave,
victory nigh, but the others must fall,
to a ravenous man that like demons maul,
What Champion will pass this test?

The dark one, tall and lean
whose thoughts are coarse and words, mean
The gentle one, pale and meek
who all consider soft and weak
both find people's words hard to digest.

The lonely one, eyes filled with tears
who lives in the past, lost in his fears
The silent one, who's eyes stare through time
who knows his life isn't worth a dime
in his mind they all have made a nest.

The vibrant one, with his golden smile
who accepts all he sees with childish guile
All are pounding in his head
trying to wake the flesh of lead
they rip and claw, burrow and infest.

Well, in the end, the dark one won
He killed them all with a smoking gun.
He grinned at the waste he laid out
and fell to his knees with a mournful shout.
How could he live without himself?