Lonely words cling to weak fabrics
Of shallow and wasted minds
Like the free flowing of life
From a blood stained fountain.

Temples of direction and aim
Empty their contents into the fury arms
Of helpless longing, needs, desires,
That lure the man to mankind.

“Can I help you -- Let me help you.”
He looked through me kindly, lonely
With but a fleeting fire,
Shook his head, and walked away.