Fool-Proof
This Era, just made of static
My Path: the road enigmatic
And every move doth seem erratic
As I try to keep my thoughts Pragmatic
But a muddled, maddened, mourning Mind
Reasons not with the Trials at hand
My Point forgotten, please pass me the Wine
(For nothing ever goes as planned)
Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet | Year Posted 2013
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