Whats dead is gone –
not comin back –
norhow devoutly wish,
Alas.
What lives, lives now.
Lives on the tip of a tongue,
on the lip of an ocean.
Alive, Alive O!
Stumbled into a Jungle –
a jumble of surrounds,
red green and brown,
wild bush and down town.
Over the next hill may be
a rubby tub of pleasure,
a being to teach you bliss,
or a rotten tangle of sticks.
Neverno!
Whereyarenow,
eaten from without and within,
nerves muscle and skin
thru time wear thin.
Over the next hill
is potential.
So forth you go,
wolves on your ass
and worries on your brow.
Still forth.