A Weapon To Own

When the eyes are doomy,

But the lids doesn't blink,

When the cut is deep,

Yet the man doesn't flinch,

When a mutilated body,

Still finds a posture to switch,

As the pity Crane searches for,

It's lost love at every inch,

Like a dying soldier who,

Holds his weapon with squinch,

We jump against gravity in spite of,

Knowing the ultimate descent,

An auspicious thing lives which never dies,

A tinge of hope makes the loudest cry.