There is so little left,
And still much i need to question.
So untrusting of what i can see, hear or touch,
My senses fooled a thousand times and a thousand times again.
Hardened fortifications blossom,
Bringing perpetual reinforcement.
Working for at least a respite,
From coyote hordes outdoors.
Odysseus waits at the gates,
Educated eyes identify his horses,
Staring straight through the belly of the beasts,
Thwarting threats before they take to action.
King in the learned castle,
To never be fooled again.
Entrenched deep in his defences,
Securing solace through his reclusion.
it is lonely on your own
There is so little left,
This gives forth the question,
so untrusting of what i see, hear, touch but feel?
Perhaps the fraud is mine.
Cynical battlements sprout,
With spores of harsh repairs.
Crusading for disenchantment,
Cry wolf and call coyote.
Teach to never looked beyond the gates,
Focus attention in,
Cowered behind walls and towers,
Forever fearful to lower the bridges.
Lord of what little is leftover,
If any is left at all,
Prisoner to himself,
Until he allow himself to leave.
