His posture, unceremonious and relaxed like hardly ever observed, as those who watch him from the distance could attest.
Feverish are his eyes, though. Concealed by the long dark waves of hair he cultivates since adolescent,
his countenance,
heavy with concern.
Facing the night, only gods, spirits and the owls are testimonies to the torment seizing his brow. They might be the source of it, too. (No, not the owls)
All the more rare when he is awake, the man enjoys a moment of solitude – permitting the world to weigh on him.
Greco Roman Sims 3 Poetry 