Juggernaut

There is a child
There is the child
Pale skin and mellow words
Cold eyes, sometimes mild.

Dreams of a child
Dreams buried
Deep in a mine
No longer a damn
About the past
Or the hourglass.
You know why?

Cos' that child
Suffers an existence, of
Too many thin lines
To many parallels.

'Cos that child
He never cries
He never smiles...
The juggernaut in him,
Long ago, died.