Like an obscure little thing
Which has no use in this crippled world.
A room full of worthy and elite people
Has me in its corner like a tumor
In Ares' mighty body, making it
Adverse to fight more wars,
Or like the weakness in Achilles' foot
Which got him killed.
I sit there meaningless as ever
Staring into melancholic void,
Thinking about ways to get me away
From the age long suffering of this world.
While the God of Death
Sees me from sky and smile
On the futility of my thought.
