The Ceaseless Chase
A youth unbowed by failure's storms
Upon this world still roams,
Hoping to cling to the prospect of uncertain chance,
That dwindles as he continues to grope in trance,
Veiled from him what tomorrow may birth;
The unpredictable turns of this heathen earth.
Vowed to chase the dancing sight of fame
And ignite the long dead flame
That men guard against rekindling,
Yet must needs be lit within an inkling.
And that young man is I so downcast and desolate
That to the world came I rather too late,
When men had among themselves shared all
Leaving the world a bereft hall,
Devoid of fame for the young,
With no single melody unsung.
Yet it shall never stop this ceaseless chase,
Till heaven counts the last of my hectic days.
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