What Could I Do

de J. Stalin

Line approaching line
End apprehending end
Inching closer and closer
Windows closing
Exhaling impaired judgement
Like father like son
A replica more flawed than the archetype
The apple falls directly below the tree
But the tree is dead
Which leaves the apple rotten as can be
Hoping desperately my pen runs dry
While procuring more and more ink
Scribing the same sentence
Again and again
Will the circle remain unbroken?

A good man grows cold
With every knife
And every arrow
With every obstacle
Some say character is built

A good man grows old
With every failure
And every regret
With every goodbye
Some say he gains wisdom

Here stands our good man, alone
Shattered and bleeding
From every mistake
Every betrayal
And every lesson learned
A good man as good as dead