Oh, what a looming scream.

Rippled through the cast

of the soldering blade.

 

Of heroic tasks

the elders have made.

 

The pursuit is unknown,

as we stand tall and alone.

Perhaps a screech or a moan,

what a price we must pay.

 

A darkened glimpse,

of all failed attempts.

To enlighten a gaze

of where not, we shall stay.

 

Complacent creatures,

with such burning desire.

These jobs have been chosen,

there’s a coward for hire.

 

Appeased is not,

the soldering blade.

For it must remain pierced,

to step out of the grave.