For thoughts of hope are as fragile as a pie crust, skillfully navigating the perils in life, hoping to never find the road washed out, often running over a creaky bridge, as the sun begins to set and evening turns to night, the bustle of life winds down as anxiety comes to life, for night is a time of rest, but for a broken mind it brings, horrors and fears that hide behind closed doors, no dinner to be had, no bed to sleep, an old man shuffles his crippled feet, pacing back and forth, confused about the time, confused about why, wondering where the road of life has brought him, no news to see, no music to hear, no one even to hold him dear, for if the night was so nice, no peace of mind for all that has been left behind.

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