Like a toy I won’t let you play with because you’re ill equipt.

Not capable of understanding my choices, my wit.

I had to battle constantly more habit than choice.

A tool of grave defences in how I used my voice.

An intellectual enigma stuck with metaphorical references.
A fence with no boundaries where nobody tresspasses.

Confucious say…..I’m sorry for not believing.

You were smarter than the thought I am.

©G.P Williamson 2017


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