Atop a hill, in the fading light he stood,
trying his best to understand -- wishing that he could.
His eyes as dark as the velvet throat of night -- so blue
-- shine with a faint inner light and reach out to you.

The autumn breeze sweeps back locks of thick, raven hair,
shut his eyes, thought so hard, knew he'd never return there.
Whispers one last farewell to the life he's known
Is he free at last -- or even more alone?

Needing strength he could not find
needing love he could not bind
steels himself with a heart of stone
shall wander farther, far from home.

MORE bad poetry!