Sanche

Behold! The once sublime and supreme man Trembling and dripping through the moon and sun: Like the God -- tied barely to life and land, Waiting for his last dawn of pain to come. The life and juvenility are torn, With his memories of the passed, done days By the gnawing beak of life that is airborne; The bird whose wings flutter, bring old minds craze. But the steady torture will come to pass, The pain of age will fester and wither, These talons soft, but sharp, will be the last, And the small sliver of life now slithers. Furrowed flesh, and a mind oblivious, But remade, like the God, Prometheus.