Oh, poor me! So he says, that poor troubled soul, And towards the heavens he weeps his utter sorrows, And calls to the troubles of fate that burdens him so, Placing him in this cyclic tragedy that had deemed a'go.
And so the mountains and valleys must his dearest life, Be of great rises and falls and uprising immanent strife, Yet abandon this liveliness not, for can his soul forsaken, As upon the life of cyclic tragedy has he inevitably awaken.
For he lives in the facade of failure of encompassing fate, That hinders his successes and brings his motives innate, And free'st the facade of failures can he do such not, For he lives in the cyclic tragedy that fate has gracefully plot.
A poem on a cycle of tragedy and a facade of failures.