THE ORPHAN

Hopeless and battered a tear is shed

A pierce deeper than a coal bath in a furnace as settled in mourns of grief

Upon a time in a destitute;

 The dreams and hope of the yesteryears has the vacuum swell

None a friend, though an embrace a warm bath to freshen the disquiet and throe;

 A smooching is all but a tickle

Far from reality,

The fermented tomb crisps the dear whom

Our heart held in esteem not to cleanse like decay

It stinks!

To the dear soul none rather than an adventure in long

At the perks of expectations, a heart thought to pummel and a soul comforted

Night dime shall scare for a candle lite in find---

And more thousand tears rolled in scripts for ceaseless winds of the memorials to carry along

  Either sought Shan`t breathe the gone a life to stray our hallucination