Friday, November 11, 2011

I lie

Am in a state of insolent silence,
Where the noise is peace and the 
Silence is maniacal ruckus within.
Am here not for tomorrow, by today
I lie... 

Am not the one who seeks or is sought,
But, just a shadow of flailing discontent
Of the givers, creators, painters of pieces
That once saw images of others on him. In
Time I lie...

Am and not will be or was or should be,
For all the sights and the sounds that
Maketh me the dire beast nor the winged
Angel. With needs few foresights many
I lie...

Am what you will not make of me and you
Do not exist in the chasm where I lie cold
But content. The warmth not toucheth me;
And you, a dream amidst a reality in which
I lie...

Am what you made me, made of me, made with me,
An equation, a numb sense on a bed of treachery 
That once made you man and woman- alike. I am what
You should not have but yet, you just as well... I,
I just lie...

Begone! Not you, not me... But the strings that bind
Us together in the amber of time. You be your fossil
And me mine; you be your truth and me my lies. You be 
The sufferers and me the folly. The bitches and whores 
Of Immortality! Away from you I lie... Always.
©

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