Vice

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Turmoil caused by a blackened heart
He was busy fighting an inexplicable opponent
One who never showed up
One who has never appeared before. And never will.

There was a whisper. Like a cold breeze.
Brushing past his shoulder. Down his neck.
It tells the signs of a new age, colored by the vagaries of past.
Frozen in time. Unaltered. Unwavering.

All of his vices.
All together. And all at once.
An incomplete purpose.
A broken trust.
A failed faith.

Does this lie within his comprehension?
Or somewhere beyond.
He must move towards the unsettling consequence.
Burning out with regrets.

He cannot go back now.
We cannot go back now.
The turmoil within us will stalk us.
To the end of space and time.
And the opponent will have the last laugh.