Who says the world is your oyster, when they don't like the taste themselves. Running around like frightened sheep amongst the mass throng of crowds, when you know a shepherd can herd you but your wool is black. Who decides what is right and wrong when you read if they turned left or right, we do not judge we just make judgements, unclear and precise subjectivity. Why does it make people think about the label and not about the effect nor the square they are so comfortably planted like a one hundred year old oak protected by the family around it, who holds that axe aloft for you? Where do you bide your time and place your knowledge and advice when it is so evident you are troubled like the teenager you still are and the baggage you hold onto like a pain snail seeps its murk around behind you. You bow down to your false pretences and mark me with your burnt stick and make me feel your guilt that I do not want nor need, you are nothing but your own wants and needs. What knowledge have you to offer me when I only want your love, like the first puppy you had or the first born a mother smiles at. When do you feel your mighty branches swaying in the wind when there has never been a cloud drifting over your heads in years, you catch stars which are not there and try wrapping them in tissue paper to hand off as cheap souvenirs to people, they are not yours to give. How many eggs in your basket do you count daily and then kick the hen that cannot provide for you today, it is only natures course and you are never to make it divert down the long road you once thought you travelled. Fire your arrows at me, I am just a target for your self-indifference, your lust for life is with me and you are jealous like the green monster of envy, greener then the football pitch your played on as a child, greener than the person that did not love you. What hopes do you make and when do you give up on them in a rigged lottery that stamps out the flames with a torrent of tears.