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The Fate that No One Wanted By J.C. Solis I hope my sacrifice is not in vain As I come to bear this terrible pain I hope that their lives are happy and grand As I take my own life by my own hands And as I am close to this fated death While others can still take their fated breath I recount my life with sordidness tart For without me, Everything comes apart I was abused and looked at like a tool And over my life, it’s others who’d rule As I was told how to act and behave That I was always destined for the Grave But though others cry to now see Me go I tell them this so that they’ll always know “I give my own life, that you may live on. I’m sorry I can’t join you at the Dawn.” So hear these last words, which I hope ring true With no sacrifice, the whole world would rue For I was told that my Life had no worth And that this would occur ever since Birth But I hope, still, that I left my own mark As I save the world from a fate so stark And with this, My life now

Who are you who hears these quiet words? Speak with hope to span across this vast gulf of time and space. Hear my voice, but never touch my heart despite these modern times, our world grows cold. We could come to embrace the entire globe without ever stepping out to know. Would we greet our friends who hide behind screens? Would we hold our hands up and find joy at the sight of each other's lives? Or, would we pass along as two ships in the night, to never see where we stand? Would we recognize the other, who we so adore when out on the road? Could we meet and not be aware, could we hate the little oddity not known? I stand on a corner and watch the light turn green, then red, then back again. Absently, I stand right there and wonder with gleaming eyes, but I never notice you walk on by. A friend not of this scene.

Abashed Fright, endless night, perhaps tonight. An old school fool, a tool of someone else's cruel Once more the measure Possible treasure, or Impossible pleasure, what ever, I'll never Again. Contained behind half seeing eyes No surprise when the image is where it lies So much pain, insane, betrayal with entrails Glistening, the light remaining on the wet parts Arcane arts, time darts, poison or a cure Shall age another year for a moment, yet permanent A time is the measure by which we felt As another frame in the projector, melts Melting for all to be blind in that moment For more than a decade now. The clock is not ticking but keeping time As it is perceived its power escapers too soon, Bane or boon for the nearest awareness, carries certitude Not only impossible but unnecessary Just the same, very needed. Is being so passive so as to write in passive Indelibly intention, entirely worth mention If words were needed, it bequests direction directive, reflexive, analyzed by