That place of wonder

Deep in the mind that has a soul

That place that is no place

That all fear

Though some go to in pain

Hoping for relief

But there is none there

There is no there

We are too brief

Like death uncovered

Shaped like a stick of misery

Broken inside with terrible fear

Inside the wound of life

Going sadly into the mist

Caught trembling and ashamed

Wandering home

As food for the lion

And now

With fear and shame

And lust for pleasures

Or scraps of sustenance

Spreading like a plague

Unstoppable, out of control

Mutating, and

Compounding our catastrophes

Hoping for relief

But there is none there

There is no there

Presumption is not Prudence