You are cracked and chipped,
damaged from the wars of others.
Scuffed and worn yet you remain.
Wounded warriors stagger
to your feet in the midst
of the castle siege and rest.
The others are crumbling
to their knees all around,
so they lean.
The caving ceiling pushes down
on your head, rolls down your neck
and onto your shoulders.
Clinging to your legs, acid tears slowly
dissolve away your strength.
You’ll never shake them away,
only suffer in resentful silence,
growing weaker with each passing hour.
Like a sea cliff you will attempt to stand
in the ocean’s way.
But the patient waters will carve at your
sides until you are reduced to dust.
The enemy onslaught will cut through
your core and you will snap. Your
broken body will crush everything around you.
With every little disturbance, a disease of cracks spread
across your body;
long fingers reach every nerve.
Regretful words spew like splattering magma.
You will apologize later, but the scorch marks could be permanent.
Next to you, she is pleading for you to rest against her.
Her polished body stands flawless and unbroken.
As tiny pieces of you are falling on the floor you lean.
The moment your skin touches, some of the fingers
retract from you and point to her. But neither of you will move.