2nd June, the rain is beating down,
ten past eight in the evening.
From my bedroom window, in the distance, the valleys trees,
Look like a dark African Monsoon.
The mist lingers round them, showing thier dark Silhouettes.
Leading from black to murky green,
as they near me,
to a dark dull green.

Birds whistle, confused, fed up,
Thier nests lining the trees down my lane way.
In this weather,
A lane to where ?.
( To dull hearts avenue ),
When only yesturday, my lane way lead to the lighted world of love.
Today,
Indoors,
Typing this, at my window of dark greyish gloom.

Will it ever end this grip of depression,
The world confused, no love, no respect, no princial,
Moral, hitting rock bottom.

Is our time up, we ask our selves.
Not daring to ask this question to our neighbour...
Does fear, grip us all,
Or, are those that do not feel fear, the lucky ones....
I'd rather know fear,
To be afraid of it....
For fear makes you feel alive in times like this....
Innocence!,
A Virtue,
Virtue, a Question....
A question of questions....
I've asked mine...........