What does it feel like to lose everything?

Nothing have, all is over in the dash flight

Cold air, rushing through dry lungs—

He barely catches the breath, thunder thrift in the rear,

Once again, one in vain, in the the near shift—

He must dwell, where that stood: a splinter,

lying in the torn tracks, waiting for another crash

cold drops, beaded the boy: clinging, quivering, nostril fuming

Suddenly, a satin coat dull the glazing— duller now

in the meadows stuffing, dumb eyes look for flash

that may end the pain, masque of life —

Softer hand, clutching tight — 'Rest, my friend!'

Tis' a long night, it's not over yet— to be lost in toil and rife,

Tumbles of phantom never menace fall and rise,

Come and greet me, "If you rise to fall again."

. . .

Following up — part (ii)