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January 14, 2008

Only To Have Gone Mad By Then

If my mind escapes with its dreams and leaves this world for one of pastel madness,

It will be because I can no longer hear the soothing whispers of gold and orange autumn leaves dancing with the silhouettes of the wind and the trees;

Because I can no longer taste the sunny tingle of sweet pear juice laughing and soothing its way from the tip of my tongue down to the unsatisfied unknown;

Because I can no longer feel goose bumps forming --
Nor stir a worry with eyes dilated and neck-hairs abound --
In the presence of something awesome, fearsome, and mysterious:
A furious symphony of sight and sound;

If, in life, I cannot partake of those basic needs,
Such condition would be madness;

Gone mad, I would rather be.

Posted by will at 11:01 PM | Comments (1)