The soul of man has known too much ache.
the heavens spill salted mercy water,
but the regalia of misery shields his body
his glare too impaired to recognise release.
he frets in his hood,
he flees for shade,
scampers from fortune.
his err, his cross.
desires of a little ease,
that threatens tomorrow's lease
A game oft played.
Yet he falls, he fails.
The soul of man,
how feeble, how weak.