The traveller.

He went from doors to doors, and begged for peace,
they just gave him smiles, a painful tease.
He wandered in himself ,burdened under his own shadow,
his life--- a poor b***h, a widow.
He made his bed, on top of a tree,
slept hungry, dreaming lunches of life for free.
He sat there for months, pondering over the unsaid.
Oblivious to the livings, talking to the deads.
He stared at the moon every night, from the corner of wood,
and thought all through the day, whispering with the brood.
One day he got down the tree, fixed his hair and washed his face,
and scribbled on the tree, with all the grace.
----Half,Quarter, and Complete,
and when at it, your eyes meet.
You learn that once fixed deep inside the soil, the flower did sprout from the coil
just as the moon did shine,
in whatever state he was bined,
upon this tree, between this thoughtful boon,
a soul was revived and saved by the moon.