This is the second day of discourse And I'm still feeling worn My heart is torn, crying tears That mirror melting paintings And feet withering away On paths they tread on
My eyes are closing Only to dream of nightmares And these words unspoken Are all but ideas now
That have left their Stations of innovation Further to fade in my mind And further to drift apart From my creation.
This piece was written not necessarily as a 'part 2' to "Another Moment," but could be considered as such. It's a latter poem within the same vein that was conceived the same week "Another Moment" was written.
This ragamuffin schleps with leaden gait weighted down like Atlas of yore like that Greek titan upon massive shoulders the worldly wide web he wore
if a corporeal being incarnate, would be friended on social networks fig ure especially mythological creations exiled, reviled and sent to river elba shore
the lowest watermark of Napoleon, and one exemplifying the je nais say quor my life and hard times as if concocted from mind of Charles Dickens or
another deft writer with an abysmally dim, groveling vagabond less o more who experienced rejection at every turn muttering to join canine korps
wonder why in this tar nation, he got saddled with prestigious title of warrior truth be told suffered psychological stress disorders at veep fog hatted Alberts’ epistemological environmental global germinal garrulousness galore,
whose hoped friendship glued, clinched, billed as storied AA Milne’s eyore whose jarring inscrutably heavy glum footsteps exerted downtrodden chore impressing mental state with angst, whence Hades and river Styx did allure!