Who

A lowly scout
scouring the sand,
numbingly following
his footprints
around the beach.

Deceived into believing
he treads new ground
as the wake washes
away his clumsy steps.

From afar a party
of castaways watches,
stopping only at the drop
of a 4/4 to properly gestate,
by design - by deviations.

Long Live Bellicose!
Viva la Static!

I'm one foot in the grave,
clutching at my shovel
as to delay the inevitable.

Martyrdom is tricky -
I've perished long
before my time.

Far too timid to
go ahead of the curve,
stubbornly too recessive
to pass on.

A-ha, an exclamation erupts,
the claims become
bolder still!

The lowly scout took
one step further and
saw his reflection
on the surface of despair.

The sorry sap kept walking,
seeking out the man who
stared back at him, only
to drown in the undertow.

Long Live Despair!