Okay well i wrote this on a drunken planeride-- it was my own ending to edward arlington robinsons 'valley of the shadow'...

I was just going over some things and found it as much as i like the poem, i really think it shows my alcoholic attitude pretty well. It is something i hope that i have either gotten past, or else will get past one day.

There were mansions in the mountains in the valley of the shadow,
Where the 'rulers' bask on sundecks where the sun has never shone,
Looking down upon thier subjects with affectionate dominion,
They tricked themselves to thinking there was something that they owned.

And there were those who hungered after something which was nameless,
 Who, with every draught could see another word upon the wall,
Of that tour de force whose words had always barely just escaped them,
Which had lots of frenzied bombast, but no meaning there at all.

n the valley of the shadow, there are no real slaves or masters,
And things you see are almost always just the way they seem,
Theres almost no distinction between triumphs and disasters,
And there's no such thing as nightmares, and there's no such thing as dreams.

The ones outside the valley have thier fleeting expectations,
Thier Little shards of heaven and a corresponding Hell,
ANd those inside the valley have an iron will to nothing,
As to who is living better, i never could quite tell.

Reading this over makes me sick. UGH.