THE BRINK
I lost my mind among four-leafed clovers.
Hence, the gnarly, tangled hair.
In search of some luck, over and over,
Needlessly, floundering there.
Heavy with weight like that of the world,
Pushing me down from my grace.
Herald, the sun to shine and unfurl,
This lonely lost soul from this place.
As skin loses pallor so does my will,
Dwindling down further I sink.
Aroma, fresh earth, creatures be still,
Subdued lays my horror… the brink.
Steadfast, my honor, my life wells before me,
A tidal wave of emotion it bears.
Is this the moment most heinous, ignoring,
That which no witness dares share?
Perhaps, as in dream nightmare unfolds,
Enveloping me in barbarity.
Such is the life of a hapless old toad,
Forever, misplaced in obscurity.
