Upon what matter does one focus, for the thought of hunger conquers the dominating force of poverty, bereaving a disabled aging man forever in solitude, with the face of time bearing down with the weight of all the world, crushing what hope of what could be, not a reason to voice, not a mention to be heard, but within the entrapment that is an existence if despair void of domicile and earth, no water to quench the thirst, if the stars are numbered to the people below, for what hope do I hold, no sand no penny no castle will be, the warmth of fire shall never be, to the rains and winds the thunder grows, to cover the head no weather knows, start to end the middle of the journey brings no peace.