The Moth and the Candle

The enemy is at the gates, as always
The citadel is surrounded on all sides
Breaches in the defences occur periodically
And each time the citadel grows smaller
Grows weaker.

This is a war fought on many fronts
Too many for me to be able to count
The defences are ingenious, of great variety
But the enemy is too numerous and implacable

One day the enemy will assail on all fronts
The breaches of the Citadel walls too many
The defenders will be too few, too far few
The enemy will run through the Citadel
Like the wildfire of pain which will soon end
And, on that day, the Citadel will fall
And the enemy will have won this unwinnable war.

I never want to see that day.