in discomfort, his solemn soul,
grandiose spirit in this callous realm,
four healed in a casual stroll,
flooding with his altruistic helm;
his abundance on self,
filled above the vessel’s brim,
spilled out in which we dwell,
quenches other’s thirsts in a whim;
deepest depths of his heart immerse,
fathoming the untouched surface,
a blessing or is it a curse?
former, as he is the divine’s face;
by whom will he be healed?
or no cure for his tragic wounds?
as where the poison yield,
to him the tonic he founds;
stumbling through hell, dragging none,
to provide others with profound ticket,
sun, he is, for the sun,
even shines on the wicked.