Copyright (c) 2002 by RDFollendoreIII
has carved out my soul.
I sometimes I think that I am going insane
when thoughts in my mind feel cold like winter rain,
so that the sounds I need most feel as false as the words
from those funny ancient children's books of Dick and Jane.
Oh surely you must know that our crazy faith in the eternal flame
is just as empty as the hearts with most whom we once have lain.
We only exhale the thoughts of that which once served our words
and that on each night's refrain feel the swell of wet tears welling,
as though that distant star winkling might somehow place us
on the sharp limits of a black thorn to mankind's distain.
Only we few hear the echoes of the passing of time
and it is that sound of a lonely distant train.
It is that moment's focus of what we are
or perhaps shall become which
somewhere makes us exist
in the losing of light
and the passage of our pain.
For in this world it no longer matters
what you or I have done or what we will become.
It has all come to be about whom we or they chose to frame.
So whisper softly as the these seasons pass and weather patterns change,
such that the dense warm sea evolves the future fate of man and turns Earth
into that most unhealthy and unnatural broth that nature can't tame.
Don't ask too much of me, for I must ask nothing more of fame.
There has been far too much so far for me to choose
and so very very much for me to blame.
The way it feels for now
it doesn't matter,
seem pretty much the same.
Copyright (c) 2001-2007 RDFollendoreIII All Rights Reserved