Sunday, August 8, 2010

After the mad, comes the ravaged...

The mad child ran and left in his wake,
rubble that crumbles
and came back the prodigal storm.
He walked backwards through the broken wake.
Now he is wasted, a wasted child.
Red eyes and dusty hair.
He brings mad to the sane
and sorrow to those who need it.
Happiness is no longer a drive.

2 comments:

Mr. A. said...

profound...*sigh* and amazing....

atindriyo said...

that's the rhythm of destruction