I stared at death in its fullest grace.

But it could not take me into its foul embrace.

For I wore the names of my brothers and sisters upon my arms,

And their chromatic ink obscured my harms.

Their burdens were heavy, and difficult to bear,

But the weight lightens as they begin to share.

For burdens are lighter when carried together;

But they still struggled through fair or foul weather.

And so, are they broken, or are they whole?

They will find the answer by plumbing the depths of their souls.

And in those depths are their demons found;

And in that hell may their demons be bound.

They are tall and wrought in awful fire,

Echoing a discordant, malignant choir.

And perhaps they are broken beyond repair;

But they will not, cannot despair.

For red blood flows through their all-too-mortal arms,

And death’s siren call reaches towards them with its devious charms.

And yet, they are defiant;

Against the storm's looming giant.