Olotronus

As these avalanches on the beach
Crawl thin to their demise
I always wish I could stay a little more
But all I am is moss on a wall
Holding tight to craggy plaster
Condemned by fate to fall
And which soul this fate stems from
Or how many a feather its weight
I ignore, as my pupils dilate
But for how strong the lights, the wills and grip
I’m a passenger sailing the Styx
Sinking, while’m tied and guarded
By thespians on the alpine seas
In its unceasing bursts, squalls, and gales
Of rocky spiers and broaches
The playwright speaks