It Has Stopped Now

It has stopped now.
No going forward.
It’s going to end right here
where it has stalled.

Gently, gently,
we call to it. If you’re
going to fail, do it
gently; fade, don’t explode.

Each day it sits there
we can hear a fuse
burning within, crisp sizzle
suggesting that 

it’s not listening or
can’t hear over 
that sound. It’s stopped
and going no further.

Its weight is sinking it.
Its rust is hindering it. 
It’s too close and too vast
for us to escape from

how this will end. Gently,
gently, we implore it.
It’s not listening. Shouting
gently, gently? Nothing. 

If history holds true,
we should be running 
now. Far away, as fast as
we can. But here we stay

praying for fadeaway, a getaway,
good closure or improbable escape
after all: but here it is, stopped,
right where we are.