DEFEAT

                 Iron armor yields to a soft shell.

                             Lips stretch widely in an agonized yell.

                             Desperate thoughts rush in pell-mell,

                             That I am powerless to quell.

                             The nightmare ends with the sound of a bell.

                             Awake now in a dark, rancid cell

                             With a weak and beaten soul to sell.

                             Body empty as a deep, dry well.

                             Why complain, why tell

                             That enough teardrops fell,

                             To extinguish the fires in Hell.