He wanes
Defiled by downward gazes
Seemingly high
But, lowly in the sharp eyes of truth
Even in its hateful midst
The heart of him,toils onward
Feasting upon the treasures
That gracefully trickle out of his mind
He is the prisoner of sensation
Shrouded in relief
And elated in its presence
He is the scholar of the mad
Searing beneath his bones
With a motive of deathly erosion
But one fine day
He will brandish victory
Buried beneath his arm
And carted to the soil he has dubbed home
Fit in his own form
He'll display his spectrum of emotion
For he is the man of the heart
Detested by many
And treasured by far too few
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