My Will

My will is a wounded bird, whose broken wings twitch with pain and memory. On the gum encrusted pavement it lays beak down and trembling. It is susceptible to all awful predators on the prowl.

My will is a besieged fortress, whose walls are cracked and crumbling. The engines of war pepper it mercilessly. It is always on the brink of collapse.

My will is a starving child who devours all manner of meat thrown its way, regardless of putrefaction and disease. It never learns from painful experience for an irrational hunger bars its logic.

My will is a dying patient in ICU. It only clings to life because it fears what death may bring.

But its fate,

Looms,
On the foreboding horizon.