Suffer fools that ride the line

Of insanities deepest dreams,

Whom forge their war from maddening thought

And societies brutal schemes.


To they that run from emptiness

And hide from searing eyes,

From  voices that speak quietly

Of love, and sweet demise.


So what of these illusive thoughts

That keep my life subdued,

In moments that I’m most alone

My woeful solitude.

-Antony King © 2016



















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