In that last film he’s nothing but a glare
face locked fools gold where once those brilliant eyes
torn paper folded brow was once so wise.
His own abyss looks out in that blank stare.
Something was not quite working in his brain
one day. He’d hardly noticed it before.
Thoughts burn to sudden chaos and his jaw
so slightly twitches. Nothing. No great pain
says why. Throws arms around a weeping horse
whipped in the street. So much he cannot save.
Perhaps it’s kinder would be brave.
Where do they come from anger and remorse?
Lost in himself he never laughed or cried.
Was dionysus lord the crucified.