The death throes of daylight set the sky ablaze
Silent pyres are heaped with the bodies of the meek
A twilight inferno: prelude to utter blackness, the Erlking's only boon
In the shadow which offers no relief we explore the caverns of thought
And pluck stars from the sky, striving
But armour wrought from rhetoric and axes blunt by willful ignorance offer no protection
- only shackles and an early demise
Excise guilt
Abolish doubt
Is there no escape from Ahimsa's snare?
Natures face be stained red by claw and tooth
But even rusty tools - misshapen and vile - have their uses
There can be no life for the weak