Diary of an artist

Misguided by the plight of life.

Guided to ride wide.

Model upon the puddle.

A pole to cold to hold.

I am a pundit of my soul.

A mole in a whole coming out to stroll

Towards my goal.

I am old set in a mode of a certain code.

I have a load upon my shoulders.

Colder I grow to my low point as I haunt a daunting task with a glass to my past in a cast to my last wish.

His moment spoilt as taught by me.

Tea is the

gleam as a plea is to me

They watch me thinking that I would adore them but I do

not instead I suffer in silence.

No one to be my hero but the television.

But now the door keeper gets impatient.

1st September 2005