What need em' hear to rise,
and ascend upon the faintest smile,
just like a flickering, breathing light,
that shall grow by the oxygen of itself?

Alternatively, shall the walls prevent
that faintest whisper to reach it's aim,
was the touch too soft, and instead
insignificant, in the quest to reach an inner heart?

Now, does it matter, any of it,
since by and by we all shall fall,
and that flickering light fought in vain,
the touch failed to conquer all that cold

and I can't decide whether
to help, to help someone, or them all,
or whether, by mercy, raise my hand
and bring it all to ruin, and to death.