What hungry Gods look down on the lesser, ant like mortals?
Gyrating and floating forms of limited minutes are reared into
Moving dolls with needles invisible. A sight sorry enough for
The dead of Pompei to sit up and mock at such exploits...
Why call this life a journey? Just a disease, carnally
Transmitted with a gift of guaranteed mortality! The journey
Is in between they say... What journey, what fatal attraction
To the flame that kills the moth shining bright in its spectral aura?
The needles are then pierced into the wings of Icarus, while a
Self-proclaimed shaman dances in sadistic ecstacy of a pain- visible.
Whats invisible is then uncertain. Whats untouchable is undefined.
The journey is spent strifing with the inevitable, prolonging the end.
A few limited minutes, counted in years, months and days, even hours;
Slip away blemished by the could be 's and the should have 's which
You and me know so well. Climbing the cold walls of the alter its finally
There! The palm of rejection on your face through the clouds. Its there...
"Stop! This is as far as thou shall ever pass. It is time for you to drown
In that mediocrity you came from. Be loyal to her, be gentle and kind and
Accepting to the fatals flaws, gifted to each of you- you abhorrent tragedies!"
A divine reason potent enough to let you descend into the fog below- one
Rung at a time...
Fly to the flames oh ignorant moth and do know this- when you burn and
Time becomes eternal with pain... You have but trilions of sordid eyes,
Watching you disappear in the waxen, slithering flame, waiting their turn...
For they see death in you now like you had seen in those standing before
You in the queue...
Gyrating and floating forms of limited minutes are reared into
Moving dolls with needles invisible. A sight sorry enough for
The dead of Pompei to sit up and mock at such exploits...
Why call this life a journey? Just a disease, carnally
Transmitted with a gift of guaranteed mortality! The journey
Is in between they say... What journey, what fatal attraction
To the flame that kills the moth shining bright in its spectral aura?
The needles are then pierced into the wings of Icarus, while a
Self-proclaimed shaman dances in sadistic ecstacy of a pain- visible.
Whats invisible is then uncertain. Whats untouchable is undefined.
The journey is spent strifing with the inevitable, prolonging the end.
A few limited minutes, counted in years, months and days, even hours;
Slip away blemished by the could be 's and the should have 's which
You and me know so well. Climbing the cold walls of the alter its finally
There! The palm of rejection on your face through the clouds. Its there...
"Stop! This is as far as thou shall ever pass. It is time for you to drown
In that mediocrity you came from. Be loyal to her, be gentle and kind and
Accepting to the fatals flaws, gifted to each of you- you abhorrent tragedies!"
A divine reason potent enough to let you descend into the fog below- one
Rung at a time...
Fly to the flames oh ignorant moth and do know this- when you burn and
Time becomes eternal with pain... You have but trilions of sordid eyes,
Watching you disappear in the waxen, slithering flame, waiting their turn...
For they see death in you now like you had seen in those standing before
You in the queue...
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thanks for dropping by!