A shy cyclops

Tonight, I will pick up a righteous fight,

The one I'll definitely lose.

But who am I to choose

Between triumph and fiasco?

I'd be a filthy rascal

To just ignore this scream for help,

The eardrums smashing yelp.

I sharpen knives; I spur my horse,

I lead my wars in suppressing a sprouting remorse

For the things I haven't yet done,

But am about to. I stun

And kill my inner voice —

Indeed, as if I have a choice —

I simply follow the plot,

Tell me, is there somebody who's not?

Sometimes, I wish I were

A statue of a shy cyclops,

Carefree and unaware

Of bitter sobs,

And hurtful thoughts,

And rancid rainy days —

These days, they pass;

The feeling stays.

But I surpass the surplus

Of these shallow emotions,

I'm better off; they stall my locomotion.

I swing my sword —

Now, not a word,

Not anymore. A soundless swish.

I grant your wish,

My wish. As dumb as a fish

The head on a dish.

Sheesh!

What you've just read?