A lonely man,
alone he stands,
crying deep into his hands,
his life shelled in a can,
seeing life, and so he ran,
tears separating into strands,
his name never spoken of over the lands,
he is a lonely man.

His life is boring and awful too,
his joy short and brief like a word,
he hopes to meet something one day,
but he already knows he will rue,
the day he isn’t socially absurd,
so now he lives in dismay.

Labor of love is not labor I thought
And so I climbed the rungs with ideals high
Off’ring myself as like a lamb resigned
To noble fate all shorn and naked brought
But I can’t as a martyr play this lot
Once it’s been seen as futile and decried
There is but nothing left, an empty hide
Where once a mighty steed stood here and fought
And yet a hope persists marking the war
To set out fresh and force the battle turn
New starts await where there are brighter aims
That don’t require such blood and sweat be poured
Perhaps one day again the heart will yearn
For a reward beyond these lonely games

When all around are swords I cannot weep
Some Latin junk rebounds within my skull
Azure in day so bright until night falls
A slice of sky descends into the deep
And for what faith is left that humans keep?
Mercy divine cannot these questions lull
One stroke of blood henceforth sharp wits are dulled
Through knives alone no peace can e’er we reap
Still we must travel on without the light
And solace find with those who’re just as blind
Murders of crows may flock around us too
The wind from them lifting us up to flight
Between the ground and air we’ll move quite fine
We drop the weight of texts; I soar with you