Poetry:

The Trusting Little Boy

Reality creeps
It's bent, it's black
Through my eyes I can see it walking
In my soul I can see it stalking
But when I am trusting
It enters into my deepest heart's lusting
Evaded with rapture, it sits there to plot
Draws up plans for all I've sought
Such is its nature to decive and destory
Such is my nature; the trusting little boy
           by Thomas McDonley (C)2004