Unnamed Woe Of Mournful Loss Poem by HIMAvinandan D'Costa-Roy I

The time I passed across
Enduring each filth Passed withal -
Only in praise for prayer, there was,
In abundance, but perhaps to solitary cause..

This another's poem, poet well of old
Had had been so booked to my life -
Albatross blood, upon mariner crossbow
Furthermore is there any more still to know?

One just this writ yet,
Others surely many still to know,
I'm now prepared stolen swear,
Christ, only you and I to bear!

Blood thieves here still pipe,
Human, though inhumane conspiracy.
Hurt as I already am, since resume,
But as breathing I am, more now queue?

So how attempt leaden me thus,
In pends and heaps of queue,
Whyever was such humiliation sought?
Whoever was another's park in the rot? !

In the good lord, I implore
Which the scales, and where?
Which borne, that guage by bringing?
Ill, heartlessness, and withal mocking?

And more I mourn my losses!
Those that took these damages,
Passed to the third night thus,
To end do people and days rush.