SPIKES

Never have the wicked asked

About the secrets that we masked

Yet hours, minutes, seconds passed

Now we have reached the last

 

The road with a dead end

It had no bend

It could not suspend or defend

Nor could it mend

 

It only struck with great force

Its bend-less course

An earthquake-like horse

An unknown source

 

Shattered glass

We made no pass

No casque

The glass stood on my head like grass