Mark the Second, Mark IV

And then in a play of skill n deft
Distant eyes to axe left
Tearing tissues of flesh and life
Precision told of a butchers knife…
And yet, the cold stiffens…

Seeming moments, a breath to take
Eager, joyous, as tears break
Gritted teeth stop short of words
Anger, passion, love and worse…
And yet, the cold stiffens

Morrow tales, glory trust
Fingers twitched for taste and touch
Burning eyes, an endless pain
Life’s earnings piled, and run in vain
As yet, the cold stiffens…

The wind hath blow’n, another gust
No want, No care, No coat of lust
After all, what pain doth form
When one could think, maketh warm

Afterall, the cold merely stiffens…