He who works
with mortality
seeks morality.
To be good,
to be kind,
he walks into
the burning
sands of time
alone.

But a man should not
stand alone,
should find a home,
work out his wanderlust
but settle down,
should have a tribe
to stand by his side,
to be his guide,
when he is wrong
and listen when
he is right.

Perhaps,
I am a fool
who is too far gone
and always wrong,
but how far would I go
to come back home
to my friends again.

Will I always be
one second to late
to see them succumb
to the only true fate?

This is not a depressive poem,
merely a preemptive
elegy for the heart of me.