Metal on metal, a snap resounds.
The entire world tenses, in silence it drowns.
On Titan stands Tony Stark, holding his breath,
Before half of the universe is snatched by death.
Tony watches in horror as Mantis and Drax,
Seep into dust, like water through cracks.
Then Quill and Strange succumb to the dark.
His world stops spinning when he hears, “Mr Stark?”
He turns to see Peter, his young Spiderman,
Stumbling toward him as best as he can.
“I don’t feel so good,” Peter whispers in fear.
Tony can’t move, his terror severe.
Peter’s only sixteen, but he’s going to die.
“You’re alright,” says Tony, an obvious lie.
Peter falls in his arms, dust below knees.
“I don’t wanna go, Mr Stark, please!”
Tony‘s begging inside to reverse the roles,
But it never occurs, Peter slips as he pulls.
“I don’t wanna go, please sir,” he’s so weak.
It’s hard to breathe and Tony can’t speak.
Peter’s skin is pale, he collapses with force,
He’s almost gone, his voice is hoarse.
Gazing at Tony, eyes begging to stay.
“I’m sorry” Peter whispers, before he’s blown away.
In Tony’s arms, Peter’s dust in a snap.
There’s pain in his chest, his heart has a gap.
That’s where the young Spider-Man laid.
Tony lost his kid, who’s lost in a fade.
Peter’s dissolved, he’s dead in a gust.
Tony frantically scoops his hand in the dust,
But he’ll never get back the source of his joy,
Tony’s sweet, young, crime-fighting Spider-boy.