Tuesday, December 9, 2014

(No Tittle)

I am tired, I am weary, I could sleep for a thousand years....

I question also, much. One must attempt to balance the expectations with the answers given, the promises; compelled to try, obliged by contact, proximity.

It's never easy. Promises scarcely equal expectations. They should, might. They are always pointed at different stars.

My last lines:

No one saves others, or else, or was. 

To the spritely tune of: 

Or was, or was... all the wonderful because we does.  

We're off to slay the blizzards.