jay81

There is an angle that sits upon my grave.

He speaks to me threw whispers to save.

My blind ears refuse to see what my eyes cannot breath.

I say, "You don't know my travels, my eulogy shall be written by none but me!"

So then he whispers to me threw my own voice.

My blind ear begains to see in visions of the painful monotony.

Monologes of me, myself, and I..... its all redundent,

and I realize,

the down fall of man is the missconception "wise ".

But the dead, and the dead alone understand,

So I will listen,
and walk away......