Pelgris

We all see it looming
The Herald of dawn’s breathe turning
The task undone
The words not spoke
Counterpoint, spoke too much
Our regrets pile on pile
Against Dwindling hopes
Until hope is lost
And only the dull rust of the blade
Thrust haphazard into flesh remains
As well to walk into the sun
Rise or Set
Head high
Choices made
Last turn of the wheel
Made by one’s own hand