In the shadows of his solitude he dwelled,
A poet’s heart with stories to tell.
Words like whispers, soft as night,
In his verses, he found his light.
A wanderer on paths unknown,
His journey a tapestry of thoughts sewn.
Searching the depths of his own soul,
For meanings that would make him whole.
The echoes of love and silent cries,
Hidden beneath the open skies.
In every line, his heart laid bare,
A testament to the burdens heâd bear.
Through the fog of life’s despair,
His pen carved dreams into the air.
John Elia, a paradox in prose,
A life of longing, a poet’s repose.