Devoid

withdrawn from family, fiends and foes unseen

who wants loves longing when life's so obscene

desires needs not but recoils like a dream

so when, o' when? cried the wolf to its den

life is so futile, only three score and ten

find the lamb for me, at last give me zen

until we are dust, in God we must trust

vortex of vices; virtues and victory

faded and jaded, tempests don't tempt us

lead us not into lust, depression or doubt

on earths blackest night, our heart be devout

fighting the good fight, our name is not faust

© 2017