the long dead arboreal corpses litter the earth
no place to place this body, no home or kin
everyone faces the executioners wall in the end
a bullet, cancer, automotive carnage
all are unimportant once you have passed on
but what there is to fear is the slow decay on disuse
the acceptance of your social divorce
to be the shadow lurking at the edges of the gay throng
hollow and despised is no way to spend one's scant days
the earth drains the warmth from my feet
the wind blows from the East, brittle cold on my face
the fire is flickering, so I stoke it with a blow torch
I cannot break from the season, though I try
but my mind is only shackled by Winter if I am weak
I struggle not just to be alive, but to understand the mode of this life
domesticated animal, mechanical work drone, raving criminal
I debate this habitually
will I be steel, water, wind, or light
not light, intangible and warm is not my being
maybe water, water has persistence and dynamism. I am not patient yet, but I can take the many forms of solid, liquid, gas
not wind, bluster but no substance. wind is worse than light for me
steel sounds glorious: rigid, cold, useful, damaging in the wrong hands, incumbent on technology.
sadly steel is prone to dissipation at the hands of persistent water
you have to choose a way or be subject to the erratic whims of flux.
The earth is cold and littered with tiny little corpses
no one mourns and nothing changes for these dead
only the living have a hope at change.
but so little is seen with this paltry world blinding us daily.
No comments:
Post a Comment