Lately I walked deep into a forest near my house,
as I often spend there my afternoons and nights,
thinking about what happened in my life
and which of my available paths should be taken,
to lead me into future.

That's when I encountered a strange message
scratched in the bark of an old oak:
"Dear wanderer, please beware, as your life is on the line.
My wife, a very farseeing woman, went into these woods alone,
against my will, of course, as I have seen the dangers she might face,
Wolfes, inviting her nitty-gritty to a delicious meal,
Bears, rubbing their chubby cheeks at her,
Snakes, weaving wildly around her feet,
but most dangerous of all the whacky wicked witch,
keeping her from ever going back."

I remember sudden feelings of anxiousness and shiver
I had encountered only once before,
that was when a strange man came to my house
asking me if I had seen a pretty woman
with snowwhite hair and pretty face:
"I tried to find her all day and night long,
but I couldn't find her anywhere,
I fear my wife got lost - or worse...
as a whacky wicked witch is living here!"  

Lately I walked deep into a forest near my house,
as I often spend there my afternoons and nights,
thinking about what happened in my life
and who will be the next to come and visit
**me and my whacky wicked house.

You made that child
But, you were never there
You never accepted responsibility
You never really cared
You were constantly living
In a world full of neglect
This is something
That you would deeply regret

I am smashed down
By the worlds standards
With such physical expectations
My hopeless heart sinks
So small ,So small
So small , I am
As I am haunted
By the images of tender Beauty
Powerless and worthless , I feel
As I walk daily ,shrinking inside
I hold my dignity tight
As this shrinking violet
Hides in her great forest
Cheeks all flushed and red
she scurries behind her foliage
Surrounded by her own dead wood

The lashing striking pain
The whips of many masters
Draw blood from my many old wounds
As I become aware of my infected self
To much it is for me
As I play pass the parcel
With all my friends
As youths shines its splendor
Its brightness , claiming the sky's
As I am burned by its great heat
My skin scorched
Such beauty can feel
like the furnaces of hell

For what God would curse us
With such inadequacy and shame
In this half life
For I live in a darkened room
Of many locked doors
Where i have cut my own
Arm and leg off
That I may live in this world
As I live on silent scraps
While the world harvest
And feasts on Gods bounty

But better it is to be the limp inadequate
That can only fail to catch
Helplessly left only to observe
As a great physical Prowess
Can be a great curse
For much seeing is lost
In the unquenchable appetite
Of a hungry feasting Lion
As in the glory of conquest
The soul can be forgotten

The seeds of my shame
And inflections of inadequacy
Where burdens ,never of Gods will
But sewn by the devil himself
To hide the majesty of Gods creation
So I relax to observe
The weeding of our gracious God
As I am relieved of each passing pain
For thy will be done

Sometimes I go to see paintings
Of people,or sometimes I go to see the
People watch the paintings.
Which is more artistic:
The thinker,
Or the furrowed eyebrows
Of the face thinking about the thinker?
There's more screaming inside
Our eyes than the scream itself
When we see it.
We heard the screaming in our heads
Painting is silent.
Sometimes I go to see the live people.
To see the moving exhibits.
To see what they think
Of art.

When my cells wont replicate themselves any more,
I'll have to bribe saint Peter on the door
I miss smoking lucky strike
I miss that my cat eased my troubled mind
I miss the weight of the world in my palm
I should have broken Crispin's arms
when I had the chance.
And when the rage that I have saved throws me overboard,
it best weight me down with cannonballs
because I'm a real good swimmer
I had all the awards.