A question of when.Than of how.
Not that it matters. Any more. Either way.
He knew exactly in what colour the end would turn around. He saw it even before the start. Blues in shades of darkness like it is on a thunder struck night in the valley of the dead.
He would hide in dark poetry. And,in even darker songs. And, when everything fails he would take that long, windy road that will take him to the hills and beyond. For solace. For answers. And, for fables that tells of love. hope. dreams. and, promises.
Not that he cared. Not that it mattered. Not that he had a choice.
He moved ahead. And, he moved much farther beyond.
A man with the least care in the world. He was one.
Not that it matters. Any more. Either way.
He knew exactly in what colour the end would turn around. He saw it even before the start. Blues in shades of darkness like it is on a thunder struck night in the valley of the dead.
He would hide in dark poetry. And,in even darker songs. And, when everything fails he would take that long, windy road that will take him to the hills and beyond. For solace. For answers. And, for fables that tells of love. hope. dreams. and, promises.
Not that he cared. Not that it mattered. Not that he had a choice.
He moved ahead. And, he moved much farther beyond.
A man with the least care in the world. He was one.
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