Life through a dire frame
Captures an image grey,
None so weak to pangs of pain,
As a voluntarily captured prey.
He sits under a dripping shed,
With lost and wanton eyes,
He hears hope drift away,
Through the cold hides.
Drops of rain awake the soul,
The defeated spirit laments,
For a glory not achieved,
For the loss of a flower’s scent.
Crawling nights and escaping days,
The fragile frame rests,
The darkest skies of the world
Can now his mind behest.
Clinging chains and unheard cries,
A thirst which does never suffice,
For he is now only left to see,
Glimpses of life in moments’ spree.
For there is none so taken to ire,
Than he who burns in desire.
A ghastly grasp, an unthinkable fire,
The sunken valley near a mountain pyre.