sway thee not borne out of lock
steadfast, though you be
far removed from your flock
for on whose account do you appear
but your own
dispossed of anyone dear
stout of heart you solitary soul
till the time your eyes
be forcibly closed
on stone be etched
"he lived his life whole"

gratitude for streets dimmed with fog
neon bursting to hues
I've neither hearth nor log
silence a tomb imbues -
my life of solitude
welcome o joyous mirth
but not on my doorstep
on the day of birth
devoid of chatter
this abode of mine
I have all but none which matter
conversing with a bottle of wine