Glass

Now upon me,

his voice slithers past feeble defenses

and trespasses.

Intruder of serpentine sound, 

like a glass plate upon

a performer's act and instrument,

in a long forgotten, deserted tent;

Continuing for as long as one might live, 

and for lifetimes one might bear past an end.

Still, no failing in unease, 

no pause in struggle,

and the plate's motion reaffirmed

by the hand as it slows.

But all struggles must stop,

and with them, the plate.

With a waver, it falls straight,

and at this end joins a sound

far worse

and returns the crowd

to make disheartening music.

The violent song, still,

finds no exit,

even as i did.