Poem

All of my affectations are fleeting.

I walk along a crooked path with crooked feet holding a crooked stick.

I look beyond the fence and see what fantasies I wish lay there for me,

but I soon stumble upon a rock and I wake up to reality.

The fog rises, a cloud hangs in a fuzzy haze about my eyes.

If only the wind would blow it away.

I would soon see the sun beginning to rise.