IN a one room hovel
of daub and wattle
deep in a lonely wood.
Alone in the night,
mired in freight,
the young man did what he could.
WITH pounding heart
and bated breath
he waited for his doom.
Just he and his fear,
in that one lonely room
THE fantastic fear
of life itself
is all he had to dread.
No time for life,
his wish for the morrow
was that he would be dead.
HIS wish came true,
in fear he died,
of nothing more than dread.
It seems the true problem always is
something in your head.
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Comments
Love you ya crazy crazy man
--
Ignorance is Curable, Stupidity is not
[link]
--
Ignorance is Curable, Stupidity is not
[link]
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