Faced with no alternative
the path of honour bares its teeth.
The secret movement of time filling
life’s blood with the steel of rain.

At the end of a line, nothing.
Nothing but the hollow promise of an act
soon to be forgotten.
The faint horizon beckons,
a choice between white sky and sea.
Snapping waves drawing whispers from
the sweet voice of clouds.

Destiny accepted. A conversation from beyond
a dark door is no longer meaningless.
In the clarity of deepest white, I wonder –
Who will be my second?