The bench, made of many things, like support,
From loved ones, or others very close, or hopes,
Of the same, etching into the legs, of this bench.

Strongest metal, I dare to say, composes the legs,
Of this bench, upon which I sit, among other things,
Like the wood, from the strongest oak, that's unbending.

Yes I sit, upon this beautiful piece, of collaboration
Of my family, I admire their dedication, but I dash it,
I apologize, but you see I sadly, must reject it.

This because, what sits upon this bench, is not me,
at least, not entirely or only me, but the visitor,
it's silent, an aura of death surround it, ghastly.

It sits, this bench that used to hold, now folds,
The visitor, quite happily enjoys, the sight
Of falling, I'm falling down, onto ground.

Nowhere, that's where I land, for I have done
the deed, I am no more unfortunately, my regrets,
The visitor, he has claimed victory, and I defeat.

I lay, breathless and unliving, quite ugly,
Not only that, but this beautiful bench, a waste,
My last blunder, I've sparked the fire asunder, Goodbye.