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