The Sharp Shards

Corridors of air
biting bitter chill
do the chasms low
in my stomach ill.

Blood rushes into
my vessels my wits.
My wits at their ends
summon rage fits.

A tunnel my vision
sees not but insanity.
When forces come
with tragic calamity.

I see but a child
place hands at a helm
that drives maturity
far from my realm.

A vexed mind sits
here so appalled.
I heard a wise voice,
then heard it fall.

Ripped apart he is
they’ll say of me.
In this hall now and
in others I’ll bleed.

Yet for that moment
clarity comes, thrives.
Sharp shards of heart
are here deep inside.

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