Force Poem by Kevin Maroney

With the setting sun, a tumbler runs,
a rock to the ground rolling with a fury,
till nothing but the bed of its kind can stop this sun,
with such a force as if burning too bright for mice to scurry,

Out of its path he threw his self,
till in only his mind did he remain on the shelf,
a book to be read, like so many thin pages,
in the game as only a poker chip might,
body bet in a deadly game of dice.

Yet this sad story was ill-received,
by the tumbling stone, still so ready to reave,
a onslaught of force so little in need,
as to only be dealt with the deadliest creed.

All or none, if not one thou must not intervene,
or be crushed by forces greater than your mind so keen.