He was cross with himself

And He crumbled on

Himself,Asking a simple

Question..If I'd been born

Under the Sun,

And Not the Moon,

would it be different..

It was all but a step,and the

Rock's rolled down,

He would rather live a breath more

But dare not..

For may misfortunes strike him

Not again,He'll be beyond

The hands of His demons

He blamed his fate,His

Trailing scent,he said,

Freeing Himself,

He'd sniff the Oblivion

Of fresh-malted brew..

And he threw a last half-smile,

laconically reflecting,on

His life of travails,

And flicked away his shoes..

He chose his way,

And he'd not be deterred;

For once,he'd made his fate,

And he'd known the result...