Simply a Sponge

Roaming, endlessly roaming,
Empty, endlessly empty,
Void of personality, void of character,
A victim of constant exposure,
Confused as to what to be,
And who to follow,
Not knowing which path to take,
So he takes them all,
In Winter he is Jack Sparrow,
Full of rum and foolish courage,
Challenging the fiercest creatures of the deep,
Riding the highest waves of the sea,
Seeking empty passion in the bosom of countless maids,
In Spring he is humble Harry,
With mild Adonis looks,
And body lithe and strong,
Weaving a blinding spell on everyone,
Capturing the very hearts of the lowest man,
With coffee brown eyes that hide the deepest pain,
In Summer he is Robin Hood,
With great zest and green vest,
He rides from manor to castle,
Plundering all in his wake,
His trail, a line of crushed flowers,
Their scent, an ode to his fury,
In Autumn he is Shakespeare,
With moulded words and fiery rhymes,
With honest Iago and brave Othello,
With sinister villains and tragic heroes,
He bleeds his sad tale into the crevice of our soul,
For he is doomed to wander the earth,
An empty wineskin, a hollow calabash,
void of personality, void of character,
Simply a sponge.