L u r k e r's   L a m e n t
	
	The end did not come in one instant.
	With each day, friend became foe and an acquaintance forgotten.
	Many fled with haste, while some swore to return.
	Slowly, the earth and heavens lost their color.
	
	One morning, I woke to find myself a stranger.
	Thus, I left the capital for the city, 
	the city for the wilderness.
	
	For many seasons I walked in silence.
	Til words I heard a voice speak thence:
	"Here the gambler, the lecher, and madman reside."
	Strange company is well kept in trying times.
	
	Of meagre outpost we made our home.
	But many seasons since then have gone.
	Few good men now still remain.
	I speak to them seldom, and know not their names.
	
	The thought grows even louder now:
	"I've lived this year out thrice in count."
	Yet, each time I seek to give it voice, 
	my gaze falls not on kindred face.
	
	So, I stay my tongue.