Like a wounded, battered lion
in a life that's laid to waste,
I wait for fate's discovery
for death's dark, handsome face.

The hunter, soon the hunted,
now grateful to be prey.
The blaze of battle dampened,
my fire has passed away.

Consumed, I face my destiny,
to share with you my end.
Neither ally nor antagonist.
Neither enemy nor friend.

But suicide and murderer,
fate-mated in this room.
A final, futile showdown,
we hasten toward our doom.

Eager, I grasp the darkness.
I seize death's honeyed cup.
Yes, as ever, you are right:
Avon, I set this up.

(October 20, 1988)


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