I whistle waver and wash-away.
The pain I knew but yesterday.
Yesterday started with hearts held high.
Only to be shattered by arrows of fate.
Mountains of overwhelming abhorrence from every rose.
The best girls of the garden already picked by pricks of pompous pose.
No rose left unpicked.
No girl left unspoiled.
The pricks of pompous pose.
While I sat in silence.
What good is living if not for joy and jubilation?
But heartache rejoices in toying with my alienation.
In alienation I lost my mind.
But found truth and wisdom.
And now I see that the goal of living is to gain understanding.