I placed my thoughts in a box,
So carefully arranged.
A hierarchy of my own devising,
So as not to be deranged.
I placed the box upon a shelf,
To keep my thoughts from harm.
A scheme some might find surprising,
Straight were the rows I farm.
Tight were the strings that bound,
The straitlaced thoughts I bore.
For they were carefully guarded,
From lust or fetching whore.
Gambling, drinking, greed, and vice.
The box, I felt, would bind them in.
So I could sleep with peace of mind.
Without those thoughts of sin.
In time the box grew dusty,
And my thoughts began to decay.
I looked, but could not find them.
Mind weary from the fray.
Now I fear my thoughts are gone.
Lost and blown away.
Can you please help me find them,
Before I go astray?
Read War's End, the Novel
Copyright 2004 © Ronald W. Hull