With each hard laugh,
the hatred
in our hearts
may be halved
(hatred cut slow-
but-steady
by our heroes,
as a babbling
brook shaves a rock
into canyon),
but that
asymptotic curve
shall never
hit zero.
Still, though
we'll dolefully
open that scar.
And
what choice do we have?
Our hurt
may be salved,
but can never
be spent—
such is
the fantastic
depth
of our reservoirs.
