again and again the pendulum falls
around and around constructing its walls,
building me further and further alone
severed from flesh and the blood I've long known.

darker and darker and darker it grows
till naught but Memory's grace can yet glow.

yet even that boon is so savagely dimmed
flattened and scrimmed to nothing but limbs
shattered and smattered and scattered aside;
glass in the foot prints of pilgrim's pride.