by Nick Gisburne
Is this the scale of misery you seek?
To see me die? To watch me, blinded, bleed?
You bring me to my knees to wound me, weak,
But, on your future, I, your fate, will feed.
A pale, imperfect creature of the night,
You find me in a sick, submissive state,
My crippled spirit paralysed by light.
Behold the frozen focus of your hate.
Remember what you think, and what you feel,
A proud, pathetic moment, nothing more.
Tomorrow, when I teach you how to kneel,
Remember what your pulse, your pain, is for.
Remember, always, closing on the kill,
A dream you never doubted. But you will.
