Sunday, October 30, 2011

Oh death, you are so intellectually tempting while shrinking
Lest I mar this life with fatal thinking
Or decompose my organs with frivolous drinking
It seems like a chore to stay alive
Teems with boredom and lies
Perhaps there is more to be had, in life
As fared, no score for a young lad, without strife
To be dealt a good hand, is no more to say
Having felt love, only to have it torn away
Why does a wanderer tread to stay
In an endless sea of forsaken grey?
A constant struggle with this question
Every day

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