there is no surer hell
than that of the mind of
one intelligent but
wasteful of it's talents
and years
as an animal aware
of it's cage and
also of the reasons
giving rise to the
moment when entering
thrown away hope when
bliss supplants security
for lack of an incubator
for want of just some
storage locker near the foot
of any vacant and kept bed
and the reward in
shining glimpses of heaven
caught by wearied eyes
once when younger
eyes which hold keys to
all that little ones dreams
eyes of a soul that knows
the age of the sun
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