Man made of zest.

A man in a zest,
All he known-
is a terrific trail of poverty,
Remain from,
half-million mothers of his.

Pair dimes spurt gross over his lackluster sheet.
Slush beating the man,
nay timid by the hush of zeal,
nay fearful of father's bare hands.

Trunk in a state of unruliness,
malicious belief to relief,
a risk the human clam.
A sinister - He called,
Drank aside kind feast.

Mother's eyes mind agony
as long as he was born,
A damp trail bursts on his kisser,
Knees tower over,
Body falsifying man to death,
In spite be sensed
a mild embrace.
An eyesight of source
first and foremost grin.