Myself as a Poem

The stubborn stare emanating from within his soul,

Gazing forward, great intent burning the world’s stores of coal

Wondering wonder, 

Searching, defeat’s aroma remains lurking,

Fearing the empowering scent of loss,

The olfactory sense poisoned by the spores of mold,

Nights, tossing, turning, have become cold

As rigid as stones from the peaks of stonehenge,

Lost within a perilous cycle,

He releases all but a cringe.