Leave me here to die.
For I have only just
been born.
My problem will not be
lonely old age.
Nor need you
start a war
to get me shot.
You will dispel me
at an early age.
By removing all your load
from off my heart.
We will not meet.
Therefore we will avoid
the painful problems
felt
when people part.
I will write words in rhythmic order.
Write about me and everything.
An odd feeling of introspective power.
That soothe like chocolate to one's ears.
And I will write in fear... but of what?
The cold, robotic, unemotional people.
Who take the tides of life like a cork,
bobbing on a ripple.
But I ride on top of the waves,
ram-shackled by the rocks.
And stalled by the small,
mean pebbles of events.
