How Many Skulls Must One Man Crush Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

How many skulls must one man crush to feel empowered?
How many tangents must he unleash without forewarning?
Till we bow at his feet on his arrival, like a coward.
There's no one to save you; look, no one is mourning.

You're passing. It's like an unimpressive sunset.
No one's going to feel sorry for you when you're gone.
You're a flame trembling to leave like a racial epithet.
Unwilling always to fight for what's right, a pawn

With one last diagonal move, always to forward backslide
Please don't hesitate to dig in the dirt if you must, but then don't complain.
Don't complain; you're cold and hungry, disenfranchised.
You're lonely if you live in apathy; don't complain.

And play it safe, sucking your thumb and crying profanity.
To be entitled, you've got to worship the flame and dance.
Till your blood boils and burns amber-red and turquoise
And then, no matter what, don't blame it on circumstance.

Please don't blame it on an unfulfilled dream.
Or man's inhumanity to man,
When you have never had an individual good idea or a single plan
Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't your numbers
A million strong. The meek are dying in a wailing throng.

How many skulls must one man crush to feel empowered?
How many tangents must he unleash without forewarning?
Till he's broken your heart and outsourced your soul
Surely there is something worth fighting this hard back for.

You're passing should be a sunset, and it should be explosive.
It should be a binary star system.
With orbiting planets
With a winter-flowering hellebore, always cherishing more.