unfortunate (at best)
the angry one who's hurt will never heal
will never discover the rest
of his mischief that his pride made real
not for this earth
or at least not in this time
will there be any truth
up which his angels can climb
to escape the pit he so doggedly dug
pulling down all into his yawning ego...
we remember him sadly when we lug
our own remorse wherever we go
there but for who's grace so miserly to bestow
unfortunately (at best) we just don't know...
Content (c) 2008-2013 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.
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