Strayed

A man, eager to fight his solitude, stands strayed facing the world.

There he was, straying to the verge

Off the cliff, of an alienated soul

Estranged and caught, amongst the weeds

Insatiated and lost by the calls

Of unknown whistles and the winds

He never swirled, till he reached the edge

Onerous and strong he marched on and on

Neither questioned nor answered the wrong

Sucked by despair he waited at the end

A world so small, ensnarled again

Freedom was at stake for a step behind

And ahead lay the end, and a deep ravine.

He glanced back to his freedom in irony

A gloomy smile gathered over his moustache

Faded, and somewhat nervous, escaped

The intent, now looked mislead and vague

Amidst all the irrefragable eyes he quoted

Something unheard or far too inane.

On the cusp, his legs still bound

But when now his rear confronts the rifts

A diligent man he was proclaimed

But in his heart, missing his freedom

He guessed, foolishness was all he gained.