Endless Hills Poem by Alfred Maile

I am the black sheep of a white herd.
A wingless bird;
Crawling to the endless peaks of darkness.
I gave birth to life's bitterness and hopelessness,
I gave birth to scars and faithless years.
Like a blind man, I cannot see my own tears,
Like a cripple I cannot outrun my own fears.
I am a lost soul without loyal peers,
I am the shadow of the bird up in the sky,
The stream that will never pass by,
The path that is ever troubled by hills.
A life cursed by the vilest of spells.

If my birth be of a loser;
Please let death be sooner.