He strolled, two steps back from the crowd;
To breathe, skip a heartbeat aloud.
His heart sighs! He clears the devil's abode.
Evermore suppress the core,
To shove beneath the sheets.
He still grows in void.
He still trembles his feet.
What shapes this bloke's heart?
What tests his deceptive mind?
He proclaims to none,
His trials, the tribulations.
He whispers to none,
Beyond smiles the deep atrocity.
In ghost towns for he reveres solitude,
Into deep valleys to trod through multitudes.
He worships the axe, he deems the pen.
Sober in chalice; he smoked in ashes!
The rough disposition but gentle ticker,
The pride he plummets but gradually emanates,
Where he's tested by divinity.
This bloke soul scratched it all…
He divulges to no soul his toil!
Smittenly shaped by paramour, his intensity…