The furor escalates, the anger builds up
Beating against the walls of fate
Against the damning spindles of that three damning whores
That the scythe is a respite for all that is worth
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Life Sweeps
Life sweeps across the golden fields
In whirls, and whorls of chiming peals
The scythe in its glistening glow
Cuts, swipes, weeps, a ring in its throes
In whirls, and whorls of chiming peals
The scythe in its glistening glow
Cuts, swipes, weeps, a ring in its throes
Trespassers
I am not going to let anyone trample on my heart any more. Trespassers are not tolerated and I listen for the waters of my homeland, the rushing of the weeping brook, the glaciers crisscrossing the icy landscape of my heart.
This is the juncture of all events, as my bond ends, I pause and wonder where I should proceed. Would I run to Japan, or Hong Kong for a short stint? Would I fly to France to pursue my Masters? Or would I linger in the bowels of hell and rot to the high heavens?
I am wont to write something, in the wake of Palaniuk, but time is pressing on me, like the vice of Orthodoxy. When would my break come? Questions abound.
This is the juncture of all events, as my bond ends, I pause and wonder where I should proceed. Would I run to Japan, or Hong Kong for a short stint? Would I fly to France to pursue my Masters? Or would I linger in the bowels of hell and rot to the high heavens?
I am wont to write something, in the wake of Palaniuk, but time is pressing on me, like the vice of Orthodoxy. When would my break come? Questions abound.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)