The Old Man
Sitting was i alone in the jungle of thought.
For one annonymous phenonmenon i did sort.
Then came an old sage,
Who was vividly stricken in age.
He was clothed in a silk trained at war,
Hungry shoe and praising top.
Then did he obstruct my view from behind,
With his deflowered hand-almost made me blind.
Then did my rein and vein retired instantly,
Drenched in weakness and worry.
My heart paced the path of extinction,
Timid of what may be the succession.
But later was i bethrot to courage,
And withheld the sage's hand to consume it like porridge.
You need to know who was there.
Oh by heaven,it was fear.
He had come to detain my courage,
And make me to him a bowl of porridge.
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