I am he who walks amongst ancient ruins and sifts the ashes whilst the present burns.
I am he whose iron façade belies an aged heart and tired mind.
I am he who dreams of the sun but finds only desert.
I am he who sees only despair in Truth and emptiness in Hope.
I am reason written small upon a page too burnt to read.
I am the numbed indifference upon which you rest your dreams.
I am the breach in castle walls that house the last embers of life’s desires.
I am he who flees to virtuous darkness to sleep, perchance to trust myself to live again.