The Man Within the Cellar

Through a hooded figure
Slumped ever-so into himself
Wallowing witheringly at a slim tenderness
Catching himself before silently disagreeing
Beneath the confines of such a story
A telling unwounded as long as any
Belligerent, it baffles even the strongest
A body curled towards a moth flamed to death
Lying strangled in a bed of leaves
Under which they wilt and are reborn
Confined, enrapturing the doers who nay-say
O wise with sagacity of a grave
Though grave shall you be if you muster
Disperse your strength, begone!
Away with you with your fairie'd fibs
Along the flea'd, fled into another mind
One which he attempts like many others
Staring into the eyes of a corner
The ears of a rabbit hunched over the railing
Gratified he marks with an earnest reply
Was that you in the courtyard many a day ago?