Solace

He just fails to comprehend
What "bad luck" can indicate
It's his mistakes that do progress
None that can be ascribed to fate

It could be advancing age
Clouds descending on his mind
Or it could be his soul's decline
Youth and vigor far behind

He prays for the hand of God
To lift the curses he perceives
But it, at last, is left to him
To find a solution that relieves

He knows that he has little choice
To press on, hope for the best
And yearn for an angel's gentle hand
To grant a modicum of rest

She touches his furrowed brow
Whispers words that dry his tears
Provide some comfort in his storm
Some solace to allay his fears.