House has been always a home
where he lives and love for so long
the first of the fourth
and the thirst to his worth.

The perfect imperfection
get on his nerves for assertion
yet he is an orthodox
passing like a paradox.

Feeling the blues never felt blue
for he embrace the beauty of truth.
Litany of thoughts stuck in brain, burrowed
for what he sees on stained glass window

No one knows who he really is
and everyone knows what they missed.