The Pilgrim

A love poem.

And he sweltered on the prairies
And he wandered in the wood
And he slept in shadows where,
They said,
The poets might have stood
To ponder blank infinity,
As they were wont to do,
But all he cared to think about was you

When he danced into the darkness
When he dallied on a whim
When he whispered to the mirror
The abyss looked back at him
And hatred found its claws; each day
Its fearsome power grew
But all he cared to think about was you

Don't ever call him broken
Don't ever call him lost
He found the truth he wanted
Though
He paid a heavy cost
He walked on, unprotected,
As the slings and arrows flew
But all he cared to think about was you