Age

When does childhood wonder die

The sun rose on a day that was to be

A solemn feast for thinking men.

With souls older than the stones

They dwell among and envy

And rest the prison bars that support the beautiful fleeting form.

Consumed too often by venomous pride

To be neglected altogether or embraced.

Find me in the Nowhere

In the world where my body runs and hides from my thoughts.

Find me alone,

Basking in the sunshine, and the horror.