Marc Aupiais Poetry
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The tires screech at every turn,
loneliness overcomes him,
His senses are deprived,
Yet his eyes, they see, his ears they hear,
It isn't of his senses,
But he knows the truth and he looks on up,
The mist of sin covers the skies,
When he sleeps he has nightmares,
When awake he lives their horror,
a witch cackles at her handiwork,
A dragon smiles at his success,
But still the man looks to the skies,
Still he looks up to the heavens and he hopes!

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