Soldier-Of-Madness

Will you love me like I love you? Will you coat me like the morning dew? Will you kiss me, sweet like honey? Will you protect me with all the strength of a mighty tree? Will you run beside me wild as the wind? Or will you turn away ~quietly await the end? Will you show me how to be me? Or will you tell me who I should be? Will you sing to me pretty as a sparrow? Or will you CAW along angry as a crow? Will you raise me as richly as a crop? As sweet as berries? Or will you use me like a homemade prop? like a bag to carry. Will you teach me all I need to learn, all I ask, all I want? Or will you take my dreams pull out a flask. light a

-Oakland-  -I-         Some people are born with tragedy in their blood. The way I figure it that tragedy just has different ways of showing itself. Shakespeare, Poe, they wrote their tragedy. Picasso painted his, others act it out. The rest of us live our tragedy. We’re born with a predisposition to the worst in life. The sad part is, we never know until the tragedy strikes. That’s the cruel joke, it’s always too late for us.    Ros and William had no business having children. Least when you look back at it now that’s what you see. Truth is when it all began they were just like you or me, or any other love-struck