Brink

Oh that the rosy cheeks of lovely maidens like apple blossoms, sweet, in shades of budding pink, be there for me when, at the end of aimless wand'rings I fall into the gap that seperates man from the brink of an abyss whose time dimension overcomes one's own. Arriving in a promised land, decrepit, filled with hope, my luggage being plain audacity and arrogance of fear. There is no logic to these longings and no justice though all fair play has been consigned into the past. Inside a laughable cocoon called living hell there is not life, my friend, as life can never last.