Apologies

He turned, looked up, and apologised.
Stared at the heads in front of him
Dreamt of the hatred he felt for them.
As all life ran from his drawn pale eyes.
Until there was no life left.

And he knew, without telling to a soul
That there was no coming back from this.
He clenched and unclenched his wrinkled fist.
But theres no power left, from the tip to the wrist
And no time left to ever make his mark.


What have these hands built? Nothing.
What will they ever build? Nothing.
Once had the power of the world in my palm.
And cradled it, with the world, in his arms.
But now in my grip I have nothing.