He is the marred
Offspring of opulence
Cleaving, moss covered trails
That yield, only strife and ruin
In his beleaguered mind
He is the solemn
Son of hardship
Yet truthfully
He is safe and sound
Beyond the reach
Of the harshest perils
He thieves mindlessly
From the cruel plights of strangers
From the daily scowls
He greets tenderly
Yet they all peer inward
To the clean slate he harbors
Seeing pastures of green
Among blistering blue currents
Clear and quaint
He is bereft
Of the mires
They truly know
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