He has gone too far, there is no escape.
As he shoulders his fate,
In between a boulder and a plate,
The rollers flatten him into an awkward shape.
His death is slow, the pain is real,
How did he end up with such a raw deal?
How was he flawed? Where his Achilles heel?
His bones crunch under the weight of the wheel.
His skull now splits open, he relinquishes his claim
To the words inside that are now given to fame,
Distorted and contorted, they are bound to his name,
As his precious thoughts are smashed out of his brain.
Time watches him go, swept away in a blink,
As the meaning of a corpse is lost in its stink,
So is his soul and mind, his work’s only link,
How much he has suffered to be written in ink.
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