A near dead soul
Bled of iniquity,
Hobbles his way
Draped in defeat,
A façade now surly
Etched on his face,
Burdened with gait
That once held grace,
Who journeys in hell
From wrongful deeds
His mind can’t dispel,
Now sadly bears fate
That mirrors his hate!
ode to death of a friendship
He is as one
With he whom resides
Abidingly inside,
Who lived within
When body draped
With youthful skin,
Yet he who be therein
Albeit much the same,
Not so the he we see
Worn more than thin,
With cragged façade
Those years did carve,
Upon a now worn lad
The while resides as one,
With he who lives inside!
ode to they who have arrived
Poetry on a Canapé 