Feeble is he Who wants to be A little black flea. Yeah it is. Traveling to the edge of anywhere. Acting on the stress of the now The Travellers embark eagerly To seek a high beyond highs. Attaining, arriving at a plateau They who travel collect their thoughts.
Sleep muddles the mind of the poet.
Madness chases me down the dark Alleys of my mind. A satisfying serenity becomes my reward For the pain. All of and for self I will end my life satisfied. Even if it kills me. Copyright 1996 by Lance M. Brown .