As an implacable stone gaze looks on,
Pitiless and cold,
Withholding any meaning
From the timid anguished rider
And destroying demon bold.
One slumps leaden in defeat,
The other stamps with dreadful glee;
If they'd meet at my soul's fulcrum
Then they'd both let me be free.
Ones thoughts weigh more than oceans;
Dreadful fathoms of despair.
The others ticking, flicking thoughts
Are lighter than the air.
One builds not but holds the oceans,
The other labours night and day -
Turning all that's builded up before
To chaos and dismay.
One can never summon Hope -
The future is a turning knife.
The other's plans are towers
Of gleaming fire and brittle ice.
The seesaw hangs in the balance,
I found you once at the fulcrum
And joy spread, like a wave of sunshine,
Over my life.
But when I returned to the fulcrum,
The stooped crippled wretch
And broker of confusion
Had let out the tide
Through my soul.
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