And lo! The soul worn thin
And so the story begins
The words feel swallowed
Hollowed by their meaning
And with force followed
By desperate screaming
For purpose and strength
To face the wild future
Planned for at length
And dashed in good measure
Errrreeeeeeeumumunumb
Nerevum nerum numb
Blazed into tomorrow
Carrying things to yesterday
And accidentally making a point
About the illusion of time
and the inevitable conflation of meaning in words
There are things that words cannot describe
And emotions cannot grasp
Things that are unbearably simple
With depth and meaning vast
Things that the poetic form cannot possibly imagine
Things so sublime
That men fall silent and bow their heads
And angels sing in the hearts of noble song bearing birds
Where unintelligible jibberish is the only thing that you feel
And the words flow freely, feeling as if without will
Or manner or flow or ugly grumbling pensive cynicism
Where more words are ripped out of the dictionary for affect
And boring recursive narration is the only option left
As the mind jumps from topic to topic
In an unending string of free associations
Listening to a man with white hair and beard
A young writer blathers impetuously
Longing only for sublime novelty
And castrate words of biting wit
And pure and simple truth
And lyrics of pure aesthetic
And also fame and fortune
**** it all, he wants it all
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
And lo! The soul worn thin
And so the story begins
The words feel swallowed
Hollowed by their meaning
And with force followed
By desperate screaming
For purpose and strength
To face the wild future
Planned for at length
And dashed in good measure
Errrreeeeeeeumumunumb
Nerevum nerum numb
Blazed into tomorrow
Carrying things to yesterday
And accidentally making a point
About the illusion of time
and the inevitable conflation of meaning in words
There are things that words cannot describe
And emotions cannot grasp
Things that are unbearably simple
With depth and meaning vast
Things that the poetic form cannot possibly imagine
Things so sublime
That men fall silent and bow their heads
And angels sing in the hearts of noble song bearing birds
Where unintelligible jibberish is the only thing that you feel
And the words flow freely, feeling as if without will
Or manner or flow or ugly grumbling pensive cynicism
Where more words are ripped out of the dictionary for affect
And boring recursive narration is the only option left
As the mind jumps from topic to topic
In an unending string of free associations
Listening to a man with white hair and beard
A young writer blathers impetuously
Longing only for sublime novelty
And castrate words of biting wit
And pure and simple truth
And lyrics of pure aesthetic
And also fame and fortune
**** it all, he wants it all