He has heaven in his eyes but he will show you the abyss
You can call him by his name though he may not answer by it
For he is blind to his reflection and unaware of his own existence
But I would recognize him anywhere, in any mask, for he is hard to miss
He has iron in his touch and heavy is the one to hold the fist
Building foundations of regret from the lips of a poet
And softly does he roam all the roads of my heart and spirit
© Delia Ross. 2019
