Quality or quantity

The horizon vanishes
Perspective diminishes
Terrible the sundering
Feeble the undoing

Consequences of misery
Undefined a certainty
Oh how feeble the undoing
How feeble

Hands glide
An abstraction of touch
An absence of much
Hands collide

Eyes blind
Their self

Centre off

Why does it screech, why does it tear, why do the nerves flay, why do they dangle and decay raw? Why does this fire scourge and consume so, why do these days linger on and on, what purpose does this sad trajectory of mine serve, where does the star explode, where are days consummated with meaning. Where does the empty strumming of a heart serve a cause. Fear escalates and grows and outgrows and out lives and out lasts.

Eventually

Englishman you sleep
on a bloody briar
of your own making.

Blood of centuries,
seeping slow.
A sword struck once,

be the death
of a thousand beauties.
Once considered pure.

So sleep well Englishman,
for you slept on a thousand dreams
and now! the dark steed rises.
Its nostril flares…