Defend? Why would I deign to it?
I fend off fences best—
the only fight from which I never
really want to rest.
Cold incompleteness comforts me
at levels yet unknown
to my posterity—most fitting for
the last to take the throne.
Does it end here? Do all the madful fights
for balance ‘midst the wind
fought by your fathers end here,
or will something else begin?

Beginnings happen daily from
those younger still than you—
further along, Spinner of Song,
in what they want to do.
Where are you? Is this why you hide?
Hide from your struggling heart?
Hide from the chances fiction
you denied ever to start?
Know you from story? Person?
Motivation? Roles? Beliefs?
What about production? Making something
happen? Glory? Grief?

One thing is sure—you know from heartache.
Dare I say it’s made a mark—
if not on yourself, on those who’d
only shoo you from the dark,
wishing they could ease the pain
the cruel tidings still allow:
the monster kills at every turn.
His name is Now.