The coward stands idly, surveying
what could have been.
Knowing full well now that the aim
of his soul is lost.
Not crying or screaming because he sees
the hand of fate.
Words spoken so loud he is deafened,
devoid of the touch of sound.
He reaches and grasps to find nothing but
the weight of the world on his chest.
The light consumes his eyes to blackness,
his senses now draining from his mind.
The hand points sternly to cast him aside,
leaving him to wither in this
perpetual state.
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