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Wednesday, March 23, 2005

a poem dedicated to sanity. and peace of mind.



the thoughts breeze through
the leaves of a rusted tree.
the celestial gusts blow through the
bewildered pinetrees, bringing in
the warmth and comfort
of bleak cold.
after all,
its not to hard to find pious solace
in the sound of silence.
likened to the blind man leading migrating
vagabonds through
a tunnel of railway tracks.

the puppet master carefully
strings his dolls, giving attention
to every action he does,
for he knows, what ever it is,
its his fault, not the dolls.

so he starts his play, and fumbles
oh, what a big mistake, he has snapped the strings.

the fools outside throw heated insults, much to his comfort,
to the inanimate ragged doll basking in their mercy.


adhere to conformity now,


the suns are coming out
lets smile, be joyous
as our paths , are picked
carefully by the self righteous.


-ur exGPREP-


Crew of 04a04/06| 2:43 PM