The Puddle

Standing in a puddle of unrealized potential the stranger weeps. The minions of justice have banished his soul from the palace of happiness. The redundant howls of the undesired saviors tell the stranger to gather his belongings and rejoin the slaving, slobbering masses. The stranger balks at the thought of becoming one with the rampaging hordes of the average, and gathering up his potential, he comes to the realization the his weeping only causes the puddle to remain... Yet still he cries.

I wrote this back in like '96 I think. And looking back I can't for the life of me grasp what the hell I was thinking of. I would just mark it off as a bad acid trip, but due to the fact that I've never touched the stuff I find that one hard to present to myself.
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