If misery can be pierced, does grief exude
The pent up torment of a heart shriven
Broken by the flight of circumstance, weakness and misguided will
For now, at home, means four walls and a lonely bed
Where one's reflections are all resentment and regrets
An empty space contained by a cyclops
Whose monofix is to be transfixed by a phantom.
And as debriefing is an inevitable result of exaltation
A stripping of the armoury of one's acts and intentions
So one reaches the bottom of a grief that extrudes
From misguided hopes and wishful expectations.