Warmth of surrealism
Such modest innocents unaware of such horror
Until the walls of protection crumble
Brick by brick, fact by false fact
Left alone standing amidst the ruble of a once warm haven
The icy blast cutting to the soul, stinging
All Demons pouring in on me at once
Overwhelming, drowning, collapsing my conscience
Reality is a dream, stability a cruel treat
No more to rely on others ends
The obligation rests on my shoulders
I must come to the conclusion of this puzzle.... Truth
To one judgment comes these
Virtuous man is not
Pure friends are not
And
Innocent life is not

unheardof
By: Justin Howard Sanderson
Wednesday, January 14, 1998