There's a corner in my soul that I call my own,
That I turn to when I'm faced with hamlet's dilemma,
That signals when I'm at the crossroads,
That leads me by hand when I'm lost.
Why did you tear me off you,
When you knew I’d die without you?
I promised you peaceful sleep,
But you wouldn't hear me.
He was writing his sermon.
He'd locked his room.
He wanted none to break his thoughts.
No one would ever disturb him.
His camouflage struck me the most,
As he lay with his face down,
In a river of murky water,
Murkier by his blood.
He'd sit on that quiet cold concrete chair
In the playful park,
Would leave when the last child left,
Sipped constantly from the bottle in his pocket,