There was a time when I was great
and built myself a shrine.
But I have fallen, as of late—
my lustre dulled to rime.

Machines and people buzz and crawl
like spiders through the web.
They howl and whistle as I fall
and mock my every step.

I was an idol full of lusk,
a fountain of dreams.
Where none were equal to the task
my talent burst its seams.

Yet now I rust, a hollow bust
of bronze gone green with time.
o opium of a groggy past
I lost what once was mine.

Prime numbers mark my sorry plight
And swell forever still.
I yielded long before the fight
forsaking fame and will.

Let demons scream “Defeat! Defeat!”
And grin their sleazy glee.
Yet fate will land me on my feet—
I’ll rise, though bloodied be.

I breathe, I cry, I dream, I rue,
the world still hums within.
The death will never see me through;
I haven’t lost my sheen.

The devil cannot have my soul—
it isn’t his to take.
A shooting star enchants my fall
yet will not ease the ache.

I roar, I burn, I dream and scream
with every living breath.
My latent fire bursts its seams,
defying life and death.