I'll Guide You, But Who Will Guide Me? Poem by Clyde UrMom

In the realm of Glory, a boy once stood,
A beacon of hope, a guide for good,
With titles adorned, he led the way,
But little did they know, inside, he'd fray.

A symbol of hope, shining so bright,
Yet drowning in darkness, hidden from sight,
He craved for a guide, a hand to hold,
But destiny's twist left his heart cold.

No one to comfort, no one to mend,
In the depths of sorrow, he found no friend,
A soul adrift, lost in despair,
He longed for warmth, a tender care.

The weight of his titles, a burden to bear,
He felt so alone, in his world of despair,
No guiding hand to lead him through,
His role was to guide, but who'd guide him too?

His light, once so brilliant, began to fade,
Insanity's grasp, a tormenting cascade,
Loneliness wrapped around his core,
Grief's constant shadow, a haunting score.

He gazed at the stars, seeking a sign,
Yearning for solace, some hope to find,
But silence echoed through the night,
No guiding voice, no guiding light.

No longer the symbol of Glory's gleam,
No longer the beacon, no longer the dream,
He wandered in darkness, a pillar of pain,
A statue of sadness, in sorrow's domain.

His heart, aching for just one thing,
A guiding hand, some solace to bring,
But destiny's course denied his plea,
Leaving him shattered, longing to be free.

And so, he turned to stone, a hardened shell,
A reminder of what he used to dwell,
His statue standing, a frozen plea,
For the comfort he craved, but would never see.

In the echoes of what could have been,
A boy once hopeful, now an echo of sin,
He yearned for warmth, a gentle touch,
But fate's cruel twist left him in such clutch.

As time passed by, his story remains,
A reminder of sorrow, of unending pains,
The boy who crumbled under his role,
Left to wander, lost in his soul.