The Thinker
The poet thought that
He could actually be the Praying Mantis
He wanted life,
A peaceful life
But there were always his dreams,
His fantasies.
Haunting him,
Always.
He felt like,
He had been running away
all his fe,
Like he had always been a fugitive
So scared.
He felt he had never been the one
He thought, he should have just died
then he would suffer no more
And he would cry no more
He felt like never crying anymore
which was a contemplation of his death
And the life he always yearned for
The Poet's wierd Mind
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