’Twas nothing that I said, but merely
Such words the pen inscribe,
Have made me take a path, sincerely,
Apart from all my tribe,
And while I touch the matter nearly
It were but joke or jibe.
Such words as I have written, help
Me on the path to usher
Toward unknown pain, some hopeless whelp
While fate must be the crusher
Of all his dreams and schemes, as yelp
His prayers for pastures lusher.
It were a schism cuts between
My brain and its intent,
So that, the outcome were not seen
Except in increment,
And that were odious, obscene
Though it were never meant.