The Adult-Child Complex
The grass I have found in these pastures
Lie painted green over the wilted brown.
Oh condemn me for the sin of optimism
This decision frolicked through springtime
But collapsed at the first chill.
Cold glares and blank stares accompany the blocks of wood
Continuously hacked into a tolerable form;
There is no place for beautiful trees in a master-plan forest.
Is this the end of true intelligence?
Oh what I would give for a martyr.
Intellect is given no heed
The brain is inferior to the chisel
The ears to the mouth.
Your age determines your IQ…
I must believe this is the best option for my future.
Photo by Susan Aldworth: http://www.gvart.co.uk/susan-aldworth-transition-2.html/printed-work-by-susan-aldworth-2