The Tyrant of Heartache

The titan of despair
Carefully weaves his drama.
A blackened quilt of dissappointment
In hopes to move the wheel of Dharma.

Its fingers dance slowly
For patience is the virtue of men.
While heartbreaks gather
Like heavy rings upon his hands.

Choking life out of words
For life leaves no meaning behind
And as certain as the flight of birds
The time that's lost, can't be rewound.

However, Calm and pleasant in sunlight,
Always wearing gloves of comfort.
helping hands of sweet delight
For a world that lost its worth.

So valiantly he strived
To cherish and to dry
The ambrosia of pearls
Gently picked up from our eyes.

Now, Plucked his ears
To live alone in darkened silence
For the noise of sympathy he fears,
Already threatens to upset the balance.

Within his lonely machine,
peering curiously outside,
He glances lost at a distorted world;
So cold and strange to his own eyes.