By John Delonas
I thought I was Clinging to a cliff, When the light showed That all these years I have been plummeting Through a wall-less void, Only the devastating Bottom is visible: To see the end against which One is to be smashed, While unaware of the course; Running exhaustedly, Blindly to a spot At the end of a tunnel; The cold tit of death Is the prize For those who will Keep abreast Of the sightless pace, Struggling for the cheers Of a mob Unseen, Unseeing.