By Benjamin Lem

Beyond the pale lies
The Delta of Rubicon.
The streams and tides
Shall claim a life
But they never still
The engine.
Though battered it is from
The waters so cold and endless.

Burn, burning, burnt,
The stream has drained
The gas.
Wheels roll but never drive
Across this relentless pass.
Nocturnal, nausea, and needles
Are the feelings that reside.

But there it is,
A quarter amongst the blight.
A continue,
A chance to restore what’s right.
Return, restart, resolve.
The future awaits its chosen
To receive the rarest reward.