Thump Knock Thump
Knock the distance drums
the only cry of solitude
On earth.

And the rain drops
Shatter the silent
Meditation or a prayer.
So it was.

So to be
Whole. The distance drums
And somewhere a boy Angel
Knows the truth.

All the atypical leanings, of all of the highest of minds, could not contain the dreary facts that swirl amongst the ghosts of this our world. To sit and wonder on the nature of all that is and was and will be, is to practice an excercise in futility. Futile in its inception, noble in its pursuit, thought is the most dreadful of occupations. It would seem, when one considers the inability of man to solve even the simple problem of how best to feed himself, that thought - the development of these large brains that we expend so much energy on the maintenance of - is the ultimate folley.