Melancholy amidst clouded canopy.
A palm lilts in slight breeze.
The sun tries to burn through mist,
rising above a placid lake.
A lone figure stands upon the pebbled shore,
an ache in his heart.
“What travail has brought me to this shore?”
To his knees he falls.
A tempest in his heart.
A strong wind careens across the calm waters
as though the water his tears.
“What a fool and fraud I am.”
Sol burns through the mist sending a ray of light–illuminating.
“Yet grace and love caress my wounded heart.”