scribbles~ poetry and other writings on addiction

[hollywood]

The Monkey and the Train- writings on overcoming addiction

My friend the Monkey.......He was always strong. He protected me from harms way. He made my heart stone cold and strong as steel. He picked me up when I fell down. He gave me confidence. He was always with me. He rode beside me on the freight train.

The train would carry us where ever we wanted to go. We would lie in bed at night and hear the train coming. We would run to the train like a hobo in the night.

The monkey and I must now part ways. I must now walk instead of riding. I must pick myself up without the help from my friend the monkey. He sits on my back waiting for me to ask for his help. He talks to me constantly. He plays all of our favorite songs and flashes all of the fun people and places we use to visit in front of my tired and weak body.

As the days go by, the monkey is starving. He is very hungry. I can see his ribs.The Monkey bites and scratches me every day and night for nourishment. My friend, the Train, has passed me up and is now going the other way. I can still hear his whistle and feel the violent rumble of his tracks. I know that after the monkey has fallen off my back from starvation, he will always follow me from the shadows. I know he will disquise himself in many forms and fashions. He will always be there. I must now carry a stick to keep him away. I know he will always have us two first class tickets to ride the massive freight train.

But now I must go, into the scary and unknown darkness of life, alone and frightened, without the help from my friends The Monkey and the Train

Reputation Comments on this post:

awesome piece of writing!

[sands of time]

Man that spoke to my heart like no person could do. I know what you mean, its hard to go day to day without some kind of relief. You always remember the good times you had with your drug, but its so easy to forget that most of the relationship sucks. You love that first feeling of the great high but after awhile it just becomes a nagging hunger that wants to be fed. Stay clean man cause its no way to live bein hooked.

[VincentVan]

I always thought that I did´nt love myself enough tosay goodbye tomy faithful demons. Maybe no reason seemed worth the effort and the pain. Then in the new eyes of my baby daughter I found a reasonI was not sure existed.I clearly saw why it was worth to try again. I had a few false starts but now I did it. One month off the stuff and I feel great. A bit unsure at times but still on the right path.

To everyone who is going to pick this unfair fight I wish all the best luck from the deepest of my heart. Whoever is going, orhas gone through it, is a kindred soul. Listen:there is a way out. I know. I have seen it.

" If you want a crown you must go hunt for it yourself" - R. Kipling "The man who would be King"

[Nadia Snow]

"driving that train, high on cocaine
casey jones you better watch your speed
trouble ahead, trouble behind
and you know that notion just crossed my mind


this old engine makes it on time
leaves Central station about a quarter to 9
Hits river junction at seventeen to,
At a quarter to ten you know it’s travlin’ again.

Driving that train, high on cocaine,
Casey jones you better, watch your speed.
Trouble ahead, trouble behind,
And you know that notion just crossed my mind.

Trouble ahead, lady in red,
Take my advice you’d be better off dead.
Switchman’s sleeping, train hundred and two is
On the wrong track and headed for you.

Driving that train, high on cocaine,
Casey jones is ready, watch your speed.
Trouble ahead, trouble behind,
And you know that notion just crossed my mind.

Trouble with you is the trouble with me,
Got two good eyes butWE still don’t see.
Come round the bend, you know it’s the end,
The fireman screams and the engine just gleams...


Edited by: Nadia Snow

[fletch]

***updated***

thought it would be interesting to post this, its scribbling from a little black book that swim keeps and writes in during drug use. basically this is just the print and pictures of the art are needed and will be updated soon to get a better idea of the concept. basically its one large poem type writing only divided into many many different shorter poems depending on the colour. the colours are titled in this writing a crayon in the spanish type language. basically this is how swim copes with the acceptance of drug addiction and trying to understand its nature. swim simply scribbles thoughts in different coloured crayons depending on mood etc. and each constructs different poems that can be interpreted many ways and inevitably creates an entire poem. so, quite simply here is one section; [comments would be greatly appreciated, there is some bizare stuff here and im not sure exactly what this stuff means, like is this early onset mental illness, there some things that make wonder about schizophrenia?]

twenty-four crayons

[fletch]

violeta azulado

it seems like a lifetime ago since i last spoke
with them, not that i dont desire to however. time
just keeps slipping by. im certain. by the telephone
with her thoughts awaiting. busy perhaps. ?
who knows?...
seven digits, a conditioned code there are lots of
them. yet, this is no news to me. a simple
birthday cheer, to hear my voice. but ya know
its expected. at some point everything just feels
the same. one day you walk out that door. thers
many doors to open. but some lead to small
rooms. nothing new. seems like lifes a
deja view. you know. theres a man on the
moon, hes watching you. the birds call but
you know that familiar tune, its always to
good to be true. theres never any birds outside
the door. its how he tricks you, trick
yourself [highlighted text] a perfect opposite
of you, she who sings of the birds knows
the pain, it drives me insane. to taste her,
the candy, who cares of rotten teeth and gums with
such a sparkle in ones eye. ya know one day
the candy man will die, as she, and i, and time
ya think theres another path next time. because
i keep tripping my teeth on this concrete
sidewalk

instead one comes to rational with time. sometimes
ya gotta make believe to catch the dream instinct
comforts me like energies attract ive felt that
power so close just go with the flow its happy.

theres no need to slip between
the cracks in the concrete

ink stains
the page


amarillo naranja

numb gums with a stuttered
tongue

riddled by the bus driver good thing
you thanked that wise one, perspective is
key, think about it relates directly to science


azul verde

it was a familiar colour blue, yet as
usual im confused. for in dream my
prophecy, she. a form [plato] each moment a
struggle in search of the pure and
scattered thoughts wont untie knots. its
getting harder and harder to tiptoe around
as it is evident that the pure is blue and to
find you im confronted with not one pair
but two, ya know I’ve got a tendancy
to let that moment pass me by, eyes
blue.

hey girl wont you help me tie these shoes?
i cant keep on stumbling around. just a helping hand if
its true.

journey far

perhaps these words are slightly more
than what is initially perceived. you gotta
understand that there are different perspectives
different doors to the conscience. such
colours are evident and worlds blossom inside
little blue diamonds. yet the colours are
merely one factor as a (the) piece as an entirety
insights perspective. and thats really all it is

its time.

but things are working out. no need to
dwell on previousities


blanco

its white alright
getting high is stupid. always slipping, tripping on the
same old facts. youve got your head in the clouds. i think its time
to come down. treat it like monopoly money, although, win the
game of life. [newfoundland]

there once was a boy who chased the man on the moon, you hear it
in stories along the way. its been done, its.....just noise. people pondering.
staring into space dream on dream on a little cloud floating. looped
in a fairytale oh so geeked, just give up since the kid never found him
he died along the way tripped on his shoelace. skin and bones you gotta
shape up. tie your shoes or youll die to in the concrete jungle. tears
to my eyes.

kokan eyes you
make me crazy. count that beat. all the colours just keep changing

heres a tricky one for ya?
give yourself a project...
and construct the puzzle.

oh you save me in these coloured dreams. please
speak to me. even just
thoughts it may be gone
just one more time
tip top shape you gotta put your game face on one hundred and ten percent.
oh you blow my mind

drugs drugs drugs drugs drugs drugs drugs... drugs drugs drugs drugs
drugs drugs drugs...

tear dribbles, but ya gotta
do what you gotta do, but ya said it yourself, its about the
collective so keep on smiling, ive hurt you more than you even
know but youve got some doors still, yet to open. close call, its
like sometimes you think its there but overcontemplating just left
you hanging, wondering streets solo with a blank stare youll hear
what you need to hear, and say whats needed to be said. its true
you know what im talking about. those eyes, that smile... take
the step it wont hurt ya, daddy always said change was good.

spin that record.


lápiz

scribbling on paper

sketched scribbles
Quit!
for fuck sake boy, caught by the wind, floatin around
just like a piece of trash, crippled, obviously blind, shit
youll go deaf.. just keep on keeping on, scattered
presentation to the public, does the symptom dig that deep?
its gotta be picking away at the skull, those damn birds.
christ, wont you quiet down, get some damn rest, how
far did you plan on traveling down this road. your only
fooling yourself, sketching every moment, why you
gotta worry so much? some good from some bad
ya know, things will work out. you know what
im talking about, filthy veins, seems like ya gotta
bad case of the chills, damn, just forget about things,
focus on one thing at a time.

the spoken word is
not whats written, yet it’s the addiction. fuck,
nobody has a clue, everythings interpreted a different
way. but nobody is phased by a second guess in witnessing
the guy sporting long sleeves on a hot summers day.
“curse words.” just remove the chemicals from this system.


café

brown moods? its tough yet through
attentive analyzation: contemplation it
becomes just that real. time can go that
fast and really not move at all. hmm....
coloured thoughts are scattered, and quite
random. karma acts in peculiar ways....
theres tricks to this game kid, and currency
really has no place it just makes things
make believe. you cant buy a smile. ya
know. just keeps things kicking and many
times things are taken for granted. words just
dribble out
and i know that right now. theres people
looking out for ya. see em everyday and
it just makes sense to smile. mittens dont
cost five dollars, and i understand right now
with cold hands that wise person bought
me a thought, and really she was. kind
gestures feed smiles and brighten dull days.
theres more to this than dabbled times. ya
gotta keep things kicking. lifes a habit...
dynamite

just a little taste...lady [words
often imply different things. you know that]

wake up skinny
in a brown mood?

nothings impossible.

its just really mind boggling and many wont
understand. routine appearances will make
you wonder the mind will believe anything.

tick tock
whats it mean.


pina amarillo

riding the train can really only be
described one way, and really its only understood if
you know what im talking about. you know that
comfortable room, maybe a little cold but thats
just because little do you know and one day the
birds will pluck out your eyes. then you realize
you trapped and slowly they just keep feeding
off you. i think everyone before they step on
to ride the train knows deep down that somehow
itll kill life. its really to bad because you
just gotta realize you love breathing fresh air. when you
think about it, tis far more of a struggle to
breath on the moon.

once again at the bus stop
the people knew him
dave van glythe spare some change for
a piece of mind living just five
minutes at a time.

.the story
of my life.


rojo escarlata

kokanizm
should be erased from language
dictionarys perhaps then it would not exist...ya know?


rojo naranja

moma always said to watch out for that shoelace untied, i keep
tripping but it adds a little skip in my step. don t hide that
smile...

dive in and take
that chance.

slam’nmad’era’shen?


verde

wake up wake up wake up girl

another day
another day day day

steady rhythm

sing it again

treat it again.
and again.

if you really
think about things wishes come true
makebelieve wishes if you think about it
will happen. why couldnt ya just be
like another, fear the needle.?


morado

kokan
kokan kokan kokan eyes they look right
through me — you. shes my other half.

wont you wrap
your arms around me..

cant explain these feelings. maybe you know
what im talking about.


amarillo

wake
up girl help me tie these shoes and ill sail
the skies with you.

girl?

though knowledge by no means is passed
with change, as currency, currently


negro

“this kid must be
insane”...yet an interesting comment
is made which denotes this very philosophy; in a
sense..? it is implied that each citizen falls
victim to decay by means of a habitual nature to..

...well?

...junk.

look hard

theres
this little feeling which i cant explain to
close my eyes and feel so warm until this
moment yet again in time has passed me
bye i feel so cold.

your not the only one and people
find the way.


amarillo leon

no, citizens havent the slightest

clue what the fuck is going on.

its those little
rocks the taste of the moon, just keep
that beat going and dance in time. you
know youll kick the habit soon. just a
thought from a little piece of yellow.

something to think
about

youll
see this
syringe will
take a lifespan

these words spell it out

theres
really just a bunch of questions


rojo

its rediculous

sometimes you just slip into
bad habits and at some point you always dip back in.

cola morning wake up.

caught you staring in my eyes.

looks maybe like the
addiction caught you, this fiend keeps
itching underneath the skin. shake away
the chills, just dance. catch a new[k]
perspective.

keep it kicking
with less chipping because in time
you realize the value of a tied shoe.


gris

and just
in case it isnt

understood ya
gotta read the colours first, and even that can be
confusing.

its just about finding the right
colours and not worrying to much
otherwise you just wait too long


rosa

?sometimes the nose dribbles red but
itll stop, whom would predict since you expect
track marks

twenty four crayons, a
conversation coloured with
each a slightly different implication yet
at the end of the day, each constructs an
entirety, that is the box of crayons. similar
in a sense to the careful construction of this
wax pigment on paper

failed attempts sketch the conscience
soon enough though youll feel that
moment.


violeta imperial

music..music music music
music music to my ears. music..music
music music music music to my ears.


naranja

keep things kicking and just
know to look at everything but in perspective

trainwrecked

cigarette withered skin
shouldnt scratch your wounds


azul electrico

step up, its very simple, take control over
the situation, but dont wait to long


rojo violeta

change is good

loose teeth pull them out

[INodHardOhYeah]

The most important thing to consider when dealing with mental illness is that many symptoms of drug use and addiction mimic those of mental illness' such as schizofrenia, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, depression etc. A good psychiatrist typically will not officialy diagnose you with a mental illness until 6 - 12 months have passed since cessation of drug use. That is unless symptoms had manifested themselves before your first use of drugs. Though keep in mind, that is not to say that you are not suffering from a mental illness. I am assuming that your drug of choice is cocaine/crack. Cocaine causes drastic spikes and dips of dopeamine levels in your brain, especially in those with a pre-existing mental illness. Psychotic symptoms such as delusional thoughts, hallucinations, paranoia can all be attributed (but aren't necessarily) to increased dopeamine levels (far beyond the normal wax and wane of daily life). In fact, brain scans taken of methamphetamine users during and after use are often times identical to those of an individuals with schizofrenia. Also, you are often times unable to see yourself slipping into a psychotic state as insight becomes severly limited (meaning you don't know how sick you really are) coupled with the inability to take an objective view of yourself (no one suffering from psychosis or severe depression can). Low levels of dopeamine are when the depression sets in, symptomology of "violeta azulado" really stuck out to me as depressive thinking, but I'm not a therapist in fact I'm sick myself as I have suffered with Schizoaffective Disorder for many years so I can't really say for sure, it just reminds me of myself. By the way, if someone tells you "Just eat some acid and it'll help you figure things out" tell them to go fuck themselves. When you're sick it will do you no good to try and take an objective look at what will be an even more distorted view of self than what you already have. Hope some part if this rant helps.

[hh339]

swims friends cousins moms dads friend wrote yet another song, very simple but the words come from the heart. swim can relate.

LOST

its a chemical lobotomy, all systems fail
its a quencher for your agony, and its on sale
its a bond between you and your other small round bitter half
I miss you

its a sad heartbreak looking at the state youre in, my old friend
theres a cold wind blowing chilling every single bone, I see the bitter end
its a bond lost between you and what used to be your other better half
I miss us

[robin_himself]

very nice.... compliments
I felt it

[Harry]

Prob. the wrong place for this, who knows, but SWIM is reflecting at the moment on something they wrote almost 20 years ago, while sitting in a detox center...

(yea, it's long...and if not appropriate, jus' go ahead and move or delete it)

Hangover Haven

I’m painting this picture, up late in the evening,
At a place known as Hangover Haven.
It’s open all night for all of those with the plight…
Being now sick and who shake from a cravin’.
So if you’re thinking of drugs or of taking a drink
And your burden is heavily laden,
Please look at yourself, then at all of here,
At the place known as Hangover Haven.

It stands to the wayside of life’s flashy fast lane
And has grown old in it’s many long years.
It is fore ever haunted by us unfortunates,
By our memories of hurt and our fears.
The faces will change, but the stories remain,
We’re lost souls who are in need of some savin’…
So enter, if you will, and please have a close look
At the place known as Hangover Haven.

There is Mr. McArthur, he’s a very old man,
Who will quite often sit down and cry.
He will look in the mirror, and ask, "What have I done?"
As another year quickly slips by.
He once had a family, and once had a job,
And was always so very clean shaven.
Now he sits all alone with a face full with growth
At the place known as Hangover Haven.

There’s a very young girl sitting there by the phone
Wearing jeans and an oversized shirt.
She’s been to the doctor, then called a man,
And her needle marks begin to hurt.
She looks to the phone, then stares to the ceiling,
And soon will commence into prayin’.
She’s a heroine addict and carrying a baby
At the place known as Hangover Haven.

Big Jim was a boxer and he’ll tell you his tales,
How no man on the earth does he fear.
But just watch him shake with a fright in his eyes,
When HIS image he sees in a mirror.
He’d beat up his wife, and the kids and the dog
Because of their rantin’ and ravin’,
And couldn’t pay bills chasing alcohol thrills
And now lives at the Hangover Haven.

There’s a punker who blows upon his shirt with his nose,
And claims that it’s all in good taste.
He’s sporting a head- that is half green, half red.
On his shirt’s written, ‘Nuclear Waste!’
His father and mother can’t figure him out,
But the two tell him ‘life is worth savin’’,
And he just sniffed some glue he had stashed in his shoe
At the place known as Hangover Haven.

Old Janie will sit around the tables and tell
Of the good men she’s know in her life,
The warm-hearted lawyer, the dashing young banker,
And the surgeon who cured with a knife.
But Janie took pills for imaginary ills
And now is too sick for the savin’.
She lives in her memories as if they were real
At the place known as Hangover Haven.

There’s a young man just in, he’s clutching the wall,
And shaking so hard he can’t stand.
He’s done too much coke and way too much speed
And he’s clutching his heart with his hand.
He’s praying to God, "Just please bring me down,
I will quit and I will start behavin’"
In the morning he’ll leave and by night he’ll be back
At the place known as Hangover Haven.

Tex Manley is a cowboy wearing old faded jeans
Whose six-string will always be near.
If you ask him, on a good day, he will sing you a song
Guaranteed to bring you to tears.
And there once was a time when our Tex could fill dance halls
And everyone talked of his playin’.
Then he met Johnny Walker and ol’ Jimmy Beam…
Now he plays at the Hangover Haven.

And as Zarley stands up, and at near six feet four,
He’s a vision of ol’ biker pride,
For he’s clad in tattoos as his key’s dangle loose
And his t-shirt reads, " I live to ride."
But he’s no longer high, and just gives a big sigh…
As before us he seems to be fadin’,
For he screwed with his crew and knows not what to do
And they’re headed now for Hangover Haven.

There’s a young man named Michael doing volunteer work here,
He’s been sober two years just today.
He will talk about good things in time with sobriety
But to us that seems far, far away.
Right now his is sitting with old Mr. McArthur,
Explaining that there’s time for his savin’,
But I just heard a cry, and soon our old friend will die…
At the place known as Hangover Haven.

There’s a beautiful young girl who looks all so fine
And goes by the name April May.
She’s dressed up in expensive clothing and jewelry
And her hips move in just the right way.
She brags that she takes in a thousand a night…
Though that barely takes care of her cravin’.
For her cash is all gone and her pimps looking for her
And she hides at the Hangover Haven.

Just entering the room comes old saggy hips June,
All withered and scarred through the years.
As she makes her slow entrance she spots April May
And her eyes start to swell up with tears.
She starts to remembering the old glory days…
How she’d get her tricks simply by wavin’
Now everyone laughs when she stands on the corner
Just down from the Hangover Haven.

And the two of them sit there and stare at each other
Both looking like the ghost they have seen.
One gets a glimpse as to where she is going…
While the other to where she has been.
Confrontations of this kind are a common occurrence
When we met who are equally laden.
The young with the old, and the meek and the bold,
Exchange fears at the Hangover Haven.

And a young lonely artist, alone in the darkness
Of a seat at the end of the hall,
Where the cobwebs grow thick, the paints dried and peeled,
Is etching scenes from his life on the wall.
And right now he is drawing a picture of a house
As he sweats as he works at creatin’,
A picture that looks like a place we all know…
The place known as Hangover Haven.

And as the days turn to weeks, and the weeks to months,
Some of us will go on to be fine.
We will beat this addiction, and change our old ways,
And we’ll do it ‘One Day At A Time’.
But there are the unfortunates, like old Mr. McArthur,
And to this disease they’ll succumb,
For he died with the shakes, and the night of his wake,
No one but no one did come.
And we’re open all night for all of those with the plight,
For those who shake from the cravin’
And if you see some of us when you look in the mirror,
Well a spot for you here we are savin’.
So if you’re thinking of drugs or of taking a drink
And your burden is heavily laden,
Please look at yourself, then at all of us here…
At the place known as Hangover Haven.

Harry

[Harry]

Ruby

Ruby, I remember you,
Your tattered clothes,
Your worn out shoes.
Your stiff gaunt walk,
Your sallow skin,
Your painted cheeks,
You weathered chin.
Four city blocks that trapped you in,
I wonder,
Where did it begin?

For when I see as see-ers do
It's then I travel back to you.
Oh late night sister of despair,
I wonder,
Did you see me there?
Behind your catatonic stare,
Your rotted teeth,
Your matted hair.

And as I see as see-ers do,
I travel,
Travel back to you.
And as I watch time marching through,
Dear Ruby,
I remember you.

Harry

[MiMoMo]

Thank You, Alfa [For bumping the original thread that had the The Monkey and the Train- writings on overcoming addiction post in it - Dickon] ! Having just awakened here on the farm at 4 in the morning, I strolled the cool predawn lawn to be greeted by my mother kitties from their nightly hunt. I never cease to be amazed at the ferocious loyalty a mother cat has for its young, sacrificially bringing back prime catch of the hunt for the litter, while suppressing its own ravenous appetite...

And in the same vein, I then take an early stroll of this Forum's lush garden and am greeted by your own prime catch that you bring for our nourishment this morning! Thank you again, Monsieur Alfa.

The monkey and the train is that stream of consciousness raw representation unadulterated concept snapshot. Like that hole in one's heart that yearns to be filled, yet those darn intoxicants don't make too good of a patch and end up draining out, ever needing refill like a leaky car radiator. Of course, the real seal is thicky, sticky love, whose true devotion can suppress any ravenous appetite...

Its been well-nigh 2 years since SWIM weeded the garden of smoke, drink and snort, all simultaneously. Need I say, the vegetables and flowers now grow tall, unimpeded by clinging, choking vines and overgrown thatch. Looking forward to sharing season's bountiful harvest with the Forum's hungry minions. Its ironically so cool, how a Drugs Forum serves as the way station for sober health, as well as wise guidance for altered awareness.

[hippie_lain]

wasnt sure where to post this but i think here is a good place. i wrote this shortly after getting clean and sober

Today, i have been set free

the paths of darkness i will remember no longer

for they have been forgotten

only whipers of the emotions

come to my dreams

cold and lifeless, the comfort of sorrow



But the pain i once felt

has left my heart

search though i might, i can not find

this sorrowful friend has been lost in time

so i will say my final goodbyes

and to the merciful hope you once brought

and the revenge i once thought

Ive made my choice in the clearness of love

goodbye how long will i hang on

goodbye my suicide song



to those who found the strength to hold on

for the ones they cared for

[tylenol4000]

This is a poem that I wrote awhile ago. It's about heroin and what it does to people, at least in my opinion. I thought I'd share it with the people of this forum. It's titled 'heroin'.


'I see myself as after it I chase (inside my head,
a portrayal of) the monster’s tail, so hypnotic;
illuminating me with a swaying it does (so well,
I think, and meant for me)

piercing dragon, temptation
predicting time - itself the future
reverse antics in the axis of it’s mind
(that which I gravitate towards with a
vortex in each eye, and they swirl around
and around as like a zombie I approach
the mystical source of my obsession)
he sits with a strange glow that looks divine,
breathing deeply
ever so deeply

(mythical wonder that resonates for what seems
eternal;
the cause of the not-quite-the-same self, this
lifelong dragon that haunts every thought)

difficult but possible to regain the ego (there is
hope, of course, for every victim of this affliction)
by way of solving a certain division formula; in
general it is, very cryptic by nature (not unlike a
feverish delusion, or a clown that‘s wicked and
full of enigmas) puzzling your mind in a state
obscured

the thought of it, or the image in your head,
speaking with a voice of desperate menace;
still alive, even when it’s dead (to you)

but it’s dead to me
and it’s still breathing'

[Alexander_Praves]

Before commenting on the poem, SWIM would like to inquire if SWIY is a heroin user himself?

[Ballad of Birds]

piercing dragon, temptation
predicting time - itself the future
reverse antics in the axis of it’s mind
(that which I gravitate towards with a
vortex in each eye, and they swirl around
and around as like a zombie I approach
the mystical source of my obsession)
he sits with a strange glow that looks divine,
breathing deeply
ever so deeply

Dope. Ending didn't leave me with the best taste in my mouth, but overall I liked it, man.

[tylenol4000]

Yes SWIM is a user. Been smoking it for almost four years.

[Alexander_Praves]

The reason SWIM asked is because he can't quite enjoy nor form a proper opinion of a piece written in free verse if biographical information relevant to the poem's content is lacking. Additionally, a number of people who write in free verse will attempt to tackle a subject as this while they themselves have no first hand experience with it.

That bit of nonsense being said, it's a pretty good poem that certainly made for an interesting read. By all means, it's a nice piece.