Smoking ruins, smoldering wreck,
Finding amidst a starry deck.
My mind wanders to battles past,
And of the day I'll be free to cast.
The morning paper arrives in full bloom,
Telling of wretched and hopeless doom.
The funny papers folded away, still cheery,
Yet I am lost among the dreary.
This piece is sappy, cliche' and trite,
A horrible glimpse of depressions might.
I realize, as my thoughts parade on this stage,
That my mind just shat upon this page.
Terribly Sorry,
Eryk York