Is he brilliant, or is he insane?
How I loathe construing in vain.
A poet's songs never are concise
And the thoughts he breeds often not as nice.
Concieving sobriety is of one's choice,
And impermanent truth is a silenced voice.
But the mind of one so willingly demure,
With threads of thoughts so vexatingly insecure,
Could never truly measure
In perplexing depth of one's arbitrary pleasure.
YOU ARE READING
thoughts
RandomSomething that pops into my head in the middle of the day or in the dead of the night, something worth remembering. (will continue uploading when this hits at least 20 reads)
