The wretch's companion is loneliness
His world,inane
Devoid of friends
Save for his tattered garb
Which clings upon his back.
Ricocheting tantrums
Are hurled upon his person
They sure hold no thrust anymore
He's been called the sluggard
The fool, and the jinxed
So what?
Belief become riches
When they are emblazoned
Upon his mind, his visage
Upon his faith, and his manners
But of a surety, he knows
That he shall pass
With arms open wide
Through the needle's eye
Into the hereafter
Why not?
He's shrunken with hunger
And he's accompanied by loneliness
His strange bedfellow.
Wretchedness forces a man hands to write, as it has mine