Tool

I gaze upon the morning pool
knowing not what must be said
always praying for my bread
clinging on to my own drool

I sit forever on my stool
looking not what lies ahead
grinning, saying I'm not dead
fate smiles at it's fool

Knowing what he has not done
He neither loved nor cherished
is not guilty of either one

Alone his heart has perished
As a sight for those to come
kept alive and nourished