His body is bruised, his strength is flickering,
His path his dark but he must keep running.
With parched throat and red eyes he rummages for solace,
He must keep running, because he doesn’t want the disgrace.
Neck deep in melancholy, he gropes in the mist,
Maybe he will find an angel, or maybe meet someone’s fist.
Loneliness is a sad affair, how he yearns for companionship,
But who is the one, how would he know, who will understand his fix.
Down the road he continues to tread,
In search of answers which a part of him dreads.
He stops short, what if that is not what I am looking for,
But who is he to decide the answer to the question he is tormented for.
All the world’s a stage, the Bard once said, and how well did he say,
All one can do is keep going and pray…
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