So, it begins, the tale of a barren man,

He walks with flesh that hung from his cheek,

No kin, no family left to tend his land,

No love, no reason yet it is what he seeks

Alive in treason of what he is addressed,

Desolated by time, he goes without rest,

He lives by the breath of what he guessed,

To live and love is just a mere jest

He has solitude for his affair

Knowing not wrong of what he does,

He took a step at the plight of despair,

And shattered the pillars of his hourglass

He cried a tear that sued him

A pallid face filled his mirror,

A picturesque of what seems to be grim,

It has filled his heart with horror

He meandered for many nights,

Covering his scars that he inflicted,

Shielding his eyes from the blinding light,

In search of the favor he seeks to be treated

All seems to fail,

He found none to his liking,

"Is this the curse that bounds my tale?"

He sat alone to procrastinate his ending

Upon the brittle conviction in which he speaks,

His tomorrow lies upon his corrupted palm

Torn by the vagueness of his streak,

Still, his disposition remained to be calm

Never was he so soaked in remorse,

Finally, he recollects in sincerity,

But will this end his damning course?

Looted with hatred, he comes to piety

He falls down to his knees,

He raised his hands for deliverance,

The lost time he wasted will never be seized,

He is a fool, a fool who lost within the grit of his teeth.