The righteous man falls upon his own sword,
Failing to see the arrows fired from afar,
For death means more to him than life
Or the lives of those he thinks he saves
Gain? Transitory, simple whim fulfilled
And the self flies high through the Luft
Soaring over pain caused and pain felt
And pain graciously accepted, thank you
Wherefore cometh the hour
When the silent folk swing through the trees
And put to rest the nightmares
Of a million twinkling little bravados
A sacrifice of moment’s joy
A tiny death of transient purpose
A dedication of life to death
A purpose beyond the grave
Look back with fondness, ye jaded
Upon thy mischief and canter and strife
Forget not the pain that follows
When joy is the engine of life.
The Galley with No Name 