Wretchedly I sit upon the ground,
my back to a telephone pole.
Mourning an inward loss of life
No joy be found within my soul.

Soliloquy of darker song,
that I might see again, again
that I might feel the tempered touch
of long awaited severence pain.

A ragged man approaches me,
with grizzled visage.
Carrying his home upon his back.

I fear the man, I fear him well.

But