Thoughtful
Depressed the monster would lie on his bed,
With millions of mysteries in his poor head.
Thoughts of love, visions of passion and lust,
Past experiences, past loves he had lost.
Nothing makes any sense to his battered mind,
For as his eyes, his knowledge went blind.
Trying to answer difficult questions, dilemmas
Just made him think about the world’s loss;
For he truly wasn’t a conceited, proud soul,
But his work, his thoughts made him whole.
He always wanted somehow to help humanity,
But sadly they’ve forgotten him. What a pity.
Yet he knew, his trip was approaching mile nine,
The last stop, no man’s land, the end of the line.
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