25 August 2021

And so he looks,
As if holy book,
At his own,
A truth looking for home.
All he found,
Around and around,
A man on his knees.
Always trying to ease,
Aggravations of life.
Accentuated strife,
Addled man with his knife.
Alone as could be.
Aeons in need.
Along edges he freed,
Always no seed,
Aeons indeed.
Awaiting since youth,
As if there was truth.
Alas he roams,
Amidst his poems.