Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Child Man

I sometimes wonder, but no then I stumble, and fall, and wonder no more, for there is nothing to wonder about.   It seems that I have not forgotten that inebriation, that giddy child, when I know he is dead, left for dead, for there are bills to pay, accounts to balance, and oracles to consult.  Herein lies the query, the jest, as we age, there is no better teacher than our own mirrors, as they grow, and we must confront ourselves again, or watch a life again be snuffed out.

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