In the contest with self, he was on offence Now he's looking past his past in the looking glass to get gratis from all his self-sabotage and love and loss Conquering Kubler-Ross, still he's haunted but he's walking and Testing his confidence so, at least he'll know he did it Slow collision; a homing missile closely approaching with motion sickness - so capricious but, now he's zoning in Only inches away from victory's hellos and kisses His only wish is to hold his britches with holes and stitches Into the coldest winters, will he cope with hopelessness, indecision? Photo finish cut, his hair is colour coded in wisdom A ghost drifting away, old and grey hoping this is Not the end — a phantom in a half mask with a haughty grin Who planned to have the last laugh in a past act but the copy ends With, "Let me have this last dance til they lock me in" As he runs to the summit; summons the strength to run amuck Come and plunge in to the dungeon of the mind With a rumbling on the rise, accompanied by A hundred hums of trumpets in the sky... breaking asunder Embrace the discomfort, chasing the thunder, raising from slumber Now it's 11:59... blooming in the hour of doom This ill-fitting hope is a blessing in disguise Considered letting it die for a second 'til he recognized His mind is restless, ready to fight and step in the light — his resurrection is nigh.