dman1123
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When all seems lost
And hope has fled
What solace can I find
But that of ink and paper.
The pen is mightier
Than the sword
But some nights
The sword wins.
The splendor of
Freshly fallen snow,
Can be compared not
To that of man’s creation
For creations of steel and sweat
Lack the life of a fresh fallen snow.
What sweet relief
Found only under
The sweet ministrations
Of razor’s edge,
Noose’s end and
Pill bottle bottom.
It’s nights like these that
I wander the streets
And thing, am I worth
As much to you as
You mean to me.
