Standing as a posthumous syllogism on the main platform of the terminal, is the statue,
Of what is perceived to be man. Nondescript in attitude and feature, balanced
By the raw fact that a craftsman was disposed to cast it in bronze.
The likeness of the general populace, defined through blank eyes, in the perfect reflection
Of the truth. It seems that the epitome of accepted natural progression, that there
Should be no inscription, no engraved statement of popularity or definition on its base.
The dank smell and dust on the edifice on which it resides, continues to be a grim reminder
of the expected and the commonplace. The reminder of what was and is, is left unnoticed,
Forgotten by the familiar repetitive sight.
The dying terminal (a redundant epithet) has grown dark through the cast of despair
And false hope showering its massive windows from above. Light source has been cut off,
Leaving only a path of beaten resolve, to direct the feet of the misguided.
Not unlike the path, closest to the fence, struck hard by the hooves of the cattle, prompted forward
by the hand out of food in the first cold days of winter. The stream grows on a daily basis, more and more
The masses trip and stumble aboard the trains, to find their lurching, rocking way to self destruction.
Nobility could have been found in even handed choice. Those who chose the line, the prolonged rail of
Indifference and non-comprehension. Rails of iron, rusted like the rotted cheap pines on the waters edge.
It is the longest journey, containing the most miles, the last station, the end of earth and existence.
In some way you have known the base emotion, and what has been the guise of continuity, it is a new
Reality, a new abstraction, there are no contradictions. The checked premise and the realization
In words and concepts, those things we have known all along.
The realization is loved and hated at the same time, and it can only be beneficial that the welcome
Exceeds the hatred. The desperate homage to the masses is fading from the tangibleness, and is
Replaced the the disquieting base physical feeling of the impending no mater being undesired.
More important is the knowledge, that the precepts and premises held
Without words have the tangible meaning long desired,
And that the intangible reward, that can only be shared with few.
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 9:02 PM UTC
Standing as a posthumous syllogism on the main platform of the terminal, is the statue,
Of what is perceived to be man. Nondescript in attitude and feature, balanced
By the raw fact that a craftsman was disposed to cast it in bronze.
The likeness of the general populace, defined through blank eyes, in the perfect reflection
Of the truth. It seems that the epitome of accepted natural progression, that there
Should be no inscription, no engraved statement of popularity or definition on its base.
The dank smell and dust on the edifice on which it resides, continues to be a grim reminder
of the expected and the commonplace. The reminder of what was and is, is left unnoticed,
Forgotten by the familiar repetitive sight.
The dying terminal (a redundant epithet) has grown dark through the cast of despair
And false hope showering its massive windows from above. Light source has been cut off,
Leaving only a path of beaten resolve, to direct the feet of the misguided.
Not unlike the path, closest to the fence, struck hard by the hooves of the cattle, prompted forward
by the hand out of food in the first cold days of winter. The stream grows on a daily basis, more and more
The masses trip and stumble aboard the trains, to find their lurching, rocking way to self destruction.
Nobility could have been found in even handed choice. Those who chose the line, the prolonged rail of
Indifference and non-comprehension. Rails of iron, rusted like the rotted cheap pines on the waters edge.
It is the longest journey, containing the most miles, the last station, the end of earth and existence.
In some way you have known the base emotion, and what has been the guise of continuity, it is a new
Reality, a new abstraction, there are no contradictions. The checked premise and the realization
In words and concepts, those things we have known all along.
The realization is loved and hated at the same time, and it can only be beneficial that the welcome
Exceeds the hatred. The desperate homage to the masses is fading from the tangibleness, and is
Replaced the the disquieting base physical feeling of the impending no mater being undesired.
More important is the knowledge, that the precepts and premises held
Without words have the tangible meaning long desired,
And that the intangible reward, that can only be shared with few.
Request permission to use this poem