Evoking a feeling of incompleteness and loneliness, crestfallen,
He walks with a tootling cane the path ending outside a blade.
Fallen under a spell, woebegone, all his journey he knew insolence,
Not the one he had but sadly what attitude people assign to him.
So he fought, a jab at knife´s point, years collecting any excellence
Eventually true, his memories shattered and gone as a fallen Seraphim.
Feminine power that rules over the land open veiled hostilities,
Showing him tricks and tales and the thin red line, it seemed fine.
Accepting his dark nescience, flowers, fractals, by fairies confined
Assuming his eternal dungeon, rough sketch of kin, he is outshined
By the extent of knowledge, the growth of breed, the size of greed.