He lives...

An unconscious mind there is,
beneath an easy grave.
Life is never forgiving,
will He ever behave?

Sometimes he feels the poor soul,
the clear ,tender eye.
Lust ,they call the burning coal,
has wings,yet never will fly.

Somewhere up the rickety ladder,
they say lies destiny.
Let go,douse the fire,
free fall,but free it would be.

A brain sold to buy some aura,
A heart lost to a narcissist.
Rendered homeless into paranoia,
A work of God turns existentialist.

As the water of youth,
seeps out of His numb hands.
Despair rams home more truth,
hope exiled to faraway lands.

Not that he dismisses the charm of Life,
or call his birth a misfortune,
When he is witness to true strife
Everything seems a blessing,a boon.

Pray He redeems a stolen heart,
shrug away a past as timidity.
It is indeed quiet an art,
to seek a union for eternity.

Pray the Sun shall also rise,
happiness flooding a thinking universe.
No more hiding under a disguise,
Truth is all that matters.

Pray He no more would force a smile,
to appear in harmony with worldly laughter.
He enjoys His obscurity for a while,
gives Him freedom of failure.

Right now,the love of His fictional muse,
is washing away all His pain.
Right now,He can see,
His frolicking brainchildren.
Right now,He looks up at the stars in the sky,
And the world seems so beautiful,again.