The dripping tap, ticking clock, the long nights when unwanted memories surface on gloomy waters, and my past creeps nearer and future hides in a Saragossa mist, together they push me nearer a non existence. Sad morning light, rain falls like an old man's tears when all ships have sailed and he is stranded on the island he shares with snakes and scorpions knowing they will soon eat him. Driftwood in the sea of life, I never was a master of my destiny, but I can do a last brave thing, walk into the Savannah night and eaten by lions or, with my luck, wolfed by hooting hyenas, so I will stay where I'm, my last act of cowardice, sit by the river and wait.
