For even the Sun so potent, so bright,
Can only live so long ere dawn resign,
And at last its life in space to fight,
Had only surpassed its limitless design.
Even a Man as God he is flesh within,
The days are stretched, nights so long,
And he looks back those yore days living,
Only to weep tears harsh in silent song;
But I am humbled, dare the ego speaks,
And must try more for crowd in worship,
For without the crowd I am but weak
To cry worse than endure hardship.
His thoughts race, his heart endures:
This chaos he brings is his alone,
The dogs do bark, his fear so pure,
A fall he begs, a prose to moan,
He can’t see past the end of his pole,
For there was nothing yond perceived,
His greatest fall had come to hole,
This repeats till he’s none conceived,
Like half-vase cut from top to base,
With no water can then it contain,
No plant to hold efflorescence.
Like coffin this vase can retain
His pillaged soul till morning drew,
Already dead, his hair coarse and thin,
Then lone is brought is ill he grew,
All he is left is now a thing.

Category:
Life, Poetry, Works
Tags:
, , , , , , ,
%d bloggers like this: