Enter our guy, a hopeless romantic
Emulating his feeling, truthful but manic
Lucky he enters, silence he holds
He never falls but maybe folds
The chance is, now, and if his fear stinks
Cares he wont, with ringing cuff links
Decorated the man, a listening and care
Capable not constant, what he has is rare
Romantic the man, who only feels
from that fishing line, where nothing reels
While waiting calm, are his arms
Finds fire from focus, growing and warms
Through the meadow, you must trot
You will find, what you sought
But beware, a damning path
Those who think, will find their wraith
Sheltering all desire, hides hope away
For fighting their heart, kills their someday
Confined by fear, their mirror ignored.
at least in Icarus, tried his soul to soar