• All around me is this darkness
    That these so called poets express
    All they see is their own failures
    All they see is their small corners

    If they would but turn around
    If they would but hear the sound
    Of life and love that’s all about
    They would see their folly now

    Here I sit upon my mountain
    Watching poets writhe, outspoken
    In the darkness they’ve created
    Blind to all the world, elated

    And I think, what foolish fellows
    Standing on reluctant gallows
    “Look around,” I shout from up there,
    “At the world so bright and so fair!”

    “Will they hear me?” I ask no one
    For I’m by myself on my mountain
    “Never” says a voice from below
    “Best get used to being alone”