What need has he, but anger?
What cause has he, but fear?
See how it eats him, this canker.
See what he buys by blood, my dear.
Drag his feet through parched dirt streets.
’Scorch me, Heat!’ he screams, even pleads.
Need beats him, whips crack, cruel deeds then.
Thin as reed, white as sheet, on broken feet.
Standing is a feat for this stumbling bag of meat.
’End me. Please agree. I must concede.’
’Just end it,’ he gasps, parched, near dead.
’No more,’ he asks, marked, near heart.
’Just silence,’ he begs, staring, up at Them.
A simple no, They say, uncaring, over him.