The Stoic

I smirk, face of grin like a Cheshire cat
I got me a fool's Paradise, to stem my hope
Agony bade me hails, and I as ail as an Eccedentesiast
Culpable of pain and grief, let me not sigh to the Globe

The mind, are pages tinted in bruises and ruins
Of stories, cavernous like the blinders' mine
All hopes a veil, dark not sanguine
I was a Fremen, of the most wretched Dunes

I am a stoical
One drenched in the pool of ache, that I forbid to say