Another one of Charles’s amazing edits. I’m in love with these photos
Alfredo was a strange kid, who was rather lanky and stark.
And his biggest problem was his eccentric fear of the dark.
He wasn’t afraid of the unknown, or any mortal fear,
He was afraid because “three thousand hours per year”.
Three thousand hours per year, an arbitrary number at most,
“Afraid of a phrase, this boy must be crazy”, he heard at the family roast
He just went his way, baffled by ignorance,
It wasn’t an number, it was absence.
An absence of thought, of life, of learning.
It was the time spent per year while sleeping.
He was afraid of rest, mortified of it, ran at the very sight.
He wouldn’t, he couldn’t, just sit down for the night.
When he was sick, his parents asked him to relax,
but he revolted and read his books in stacks.
"Too much to do, too much to do, even though I have the flu,
I can’t miss out, I wont miss out, an opportunity or two.”
Alfredo was scared of rest, because it was not time well spent.
He could read, he could write, he could make another cent.
Too much time to be wasted, three thousand hours per year,
He went his whole life, hiding from this with drear,
Until one day, he sat down on the peer
His hair is grey,
and his soul is too.
The water reflected.
He’d been hiding all this time, his missed the comfort here,
“All that time wasted,” he thought, “three thousand per year.”
This is an original, so tell me if you hate it so I can revise it :p