A slippery chasm filled with spears,
A construct; housing wrath & tears,
A Mausoleum; keeping hopes & fears
& An Index; recording enemies & peers.
Sometimes, it moves to inspire
others; to ruin.
Sometimes, it works to conspire
yet even more; to triumph.
A shelter from the rains of dissuasion,
A pit to wallow in self-disgust,
An ally to channel some grit & determination
A foe to sow paranoia & distrust.
Through bouts of depression,
I take it to be a Lance of Light
Through objective introspection
I deduce it to be a dagger of avarice.
But its experience that makes me wonder
whether I am its only muse
or its greatest Sacrifice.
