Wednesday, July 3, 2013


I met some souls, demented, yet alive,
Who rued their lives, misguided and misspent.
They asked, what lesson could a soul derive,
Except that all is naught, and made lament:

“How few, our moments, brief, of happiness,
How many, those of agony, despair...
In all save death, we've naught but diffidence,
And yet, we're born – to life and loving dare.”

I tried to tell a wanderer that I
Had aught to cherish in the life I'd lived.
He answered not, but with a baleful eye,
My own and so, my living soul, transfixed.

And as he stared into my self, I saw
That what I'd thought was precious now was turned
To worthless trifle.  All that I had built
With hope and labor was, to ashes, burned...

I screamed and wailed in horror and despair,
And heard their echoed voices join with me...
And all, I thought, had gone beyond repair,
Until I woke and light of dawn did see...

2013 July 3rd, Wed.

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