Alone
And unread,
The loose leafs
Of my very soul
Lie unbeknownst by the world.

My
Untimely awakening
Left them forlorn
In a lowly-lit attic,
Entombed and awaiting my return.

Across
The fiery fields
Of purifying perdition
I shall riotously rush
For the salvation of literature.

Sweet
Mother Nature,
Stave the flames
From my abandoned abode.
Its contents are my life.