Glass Fate

Glass fate:
Past eight.
Gaze fixed to a pistol's end.
Crystal facets mixed to send
Bright light or the plight of night,
Asphalt underfoot,
Soot-stalled sight.
The fault of smooth facets appaled.
Cage locked from inside — can't be mauled.
The phage, outside, lies heart blocked and gun cocked,
And on the polished crystal surfaces glass,
On a date of pistols clashed,
The wind ravaged and rocked.

Glass fate:
Too late.
Smoking tip upon
And choking my weapon.
The asphalt caked with crystal salt:
The glass fault,
Air-chipped and cracked,
On asphalt paved black,
Glinting light saved naught.
Diamond wind was wrought,
And where we fought,
The red blood of the dead was sought.