2005-04-27 - 3:42 p.m.
There is a countenance that buries us deep
the fold of ever brings after
a passageway to the meek.
I am a distant train
I'm closing in.
The pills we ate remain the key to why we failed.
And in the grotesque you see divinity
Such cruel conditions to let bleed
over you
But hesitate and all will lose you
You track the night into cold oblivions.
Take the matter at hand
propose a toast
Recoil and fire
declare a trial by errors friendship or fondness
whichever most haunts you
and when the light begins to teeter
on the dead but not gone plains
remember why you struck the chords
you used and how it felt to scream.
When you are lied to
become a stone
Let nothing halt the progress made
that still makes you a better man
than most I've known.
You shine so bright, you kindled lamp
the kerosine desires a drink
withstanding empty air-capped waves and listening in
one foot besets the other placed step
in line with fire's antiquity
the hurried bumblebee begins designing homes
for weeds to seek rapture
from wind and her taunts.
The steady head and en-averted eyes are the strong
who refuse decline
unless by will alone a separate path is chosen.
