{The Overman, 1989}
I am a raging wind,
A hurricane of spirit and indomitable will,
Relentlessly I pursue my kill;
Yet sometimes,
Just a mild breeze as my soul anguishes in unease
And life itself becomes an unbearable burden
And death . . .
I shine guided by that fluid light,
The all-powerful might of that which I believe;
Yet sometimes,
In the quiet and loneliness of the night, or day,
My ears fill with the jeers of those old fears that arise
Like banished enemies from the kingdom of the dead
And that which I most dread challenges me anew.
I walk triumphantly alone,
Strong, and unwilling to atone for my actions:
No regrets, no retractions;
But sometimes,
Like the sudden wave that covers the age-old rock,
A pain reaches my soul and rips and tears
As I feel the burden of my years,
Of centuries in arrears,
And this godless world seems beyond redemption,
And as my own senseless mortality is flaunted to my attention,
I cannot but sigh . . . ‘why?’
I face my battles with impeccable skill,
Armed with my indefatigable will,
And losing,
Never think twice about the loss,
A mere toss of happenstance;
But sometimes,
If even for an hour, a second or a day,
A wave, no! more like a chill,
Unlocks before me the agony of time,
Of time that I have lost and time that I lack,
As I am crushed by the notion that my deeds,
My very motion!, will one day be no more.
I, who have made of the Battle
And given wings to my unruly heart,
Sometimes,
Feel so alone
That no human being can understand
The complexities of this singular man who feels,
What do I feel?
I venture fearless,
Both a lion and a fox,
Towards my final quest, leaving no gate uncrossed;
But wait!
At what cost have I become this lone crusader,
Sole invader of a realm beyond the humane?
Is this prophet insane?
I, who always shrug off the losses in life,
And release that strife of its bitter taste
Do not waste a chance to start anew;
But sometimes,
For the briefest spells of time,
As I walk the lonely beaches of my mind,
My failures appear before me with the tide:
Nowhere to run, no place to hide.
I stalk intrepidly the unbeaten path,
And look with disdain, even wrath,
Upon those who declare my folly;
Yet sometimes,
My pace slows to a halt,
Not a leader to follow and I feel lost,
My resolve now hollow as I gaze upon this jungle
That surrounds me.
Yet I, who bow before the eternal plan
Which dictates that all born,
Even God, son of man, must die,
Always in the end come to realize
That our destiny is not to understand
But to withstand, nay!, challenge
Life’s mortal plight -
For while we breathe, it is our duty to fight.
