Only ( I) Do I Truly Hate
MYSELF IS JUST DEAD
THERE ARE NO BEAUTY IN THY HEAD
CITYBOUND TO AN OAK TREE WEAK
THIS POET IS ALONE AND IS THOUGH QUITE MEEK
NO ONE IS AROUND TO BE REJOICING SO LOUD A SOUND
IT IS MY FATE TO SLEEP WITHOUT WAKING UP AGAIN
THE BIRD UP BEYOND THE BLUEST SKY
SHE SOARS WITHOUT SORROW NOR YEARNING BABE MIGHT CRY
PAUPER MIKE CANNOT SEE RELEASE
IF ONLY FOR AN INSTANT TO BRING ONE TOTAL PEACE
WHO WILL TAKE A GUN IN THY HAND
SHOOT THE RABBIT AS HE DRIFTS INWARD DOWN THE MOCKING SAND
FOOL LIKE ME THAT CANNOT JOY
FOR I AM YOUR UNHAPPY LITTLE BOY
MATES FLOCK TO KISS EACH MOUTH
THE NORTH IS TOO COLD SO MY FEET WILL HEAD SOUTH
only I do truly hate
the end is now
there is no escape
Copyright © Brad Travers | Year Posted 2008
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