Those vacant stares passed on streets

Are but silent billboards,

Their owners waging hidden battles

Beneath counterfeit smiles.

“I grow weary of the fight

And fear I am losing.”

Would but one skirmish solve it all,

The winner be declared.

But daily are the enemy’s pricks,

Incremental territories.

Our foe, a cunning general,

Experienced warrior he,

Knows where city walls run thin

And flanks lie unprotected.

Opportune time his strategy.

Would that someone — anyone! —

Crush his nimble fingers to release his hold on lives,

Slit his silver tongue that he cannot whisper lies.

“I yearn for rest,

Enchanted by surrender.”

Damn him! I say, that ravishing hellish hound.

Damn him, and let the battle begin!

Gather your arms, you of courage,

For here he comes again.