Poem,
I sit and I speak, with God, and, quietly by us, is the Angel... Mr Guardian,
I weep, and speak, I ask, I ask: of T.R.A.G.E.D.Y. and the tempest upon the boat, of life!
I sit, I ask God, and the Angel... Guard.
I sit, I ask... what of tragedy...
He frowns.
And in answer, he gives me T.R.A.G.E.d.y.
He gives me you, to teach me a lesson, about asking... about Tragedy....
And I am perplexed... we learn more when wrong, when wronged, and wronged,
That we learn, more... than ever do when right, without a turn to left and right...
Yet, as I turn back, from my path in tragedy,
I wonder at those who never learn...
These... says Mr Guard, the guardian, who Mr Guardian replaced, are lessons themselves...
Lessens themselves... lessens themselves...
An echo strikes... and strikes... and strikes...
...against my cell...
And I am disrupted in my Holy Meditation...
By you... T.R.A.G.E.D.y....
You ask me to join you, join you,
And adventure into the wild dark of breathless, endless: night!
Into the sunset, we should ride...
My dear love... You say...
....
....
Shall I say it now, Miss Tragedy!
And the death of all who should into the endless night ride...
Mrs Tragedy... upon the night! Upon every good honest knight!
Is it not so, Ms Tragedy... Mrs ... Miss... Tragedy...
It echoes upon the bars, of the cell...
Captured, upon the darkness of your empty promised blackest lightest dark!
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