"omniscient" poems
That blank, white, round face
Almost filled to the brim with apathy
As I regard it from afar.
Quietly ticking and tocking
Bearing witness to us all
Almost everywhere
As if to emphasize
The impossibility of escape.
It is omniscient yet knows
Nothing
Telling us with 12 numbers
2 spinning “hands” and 44 small lines
Everything.
It aggravates me
That men thought wise in ages past
Gave power to a thing so trite and unassuming
By desiring to order the abstract.
If I were to suddenly to abandon it
I may be thought of as insane.
But how can you not be
When it is not the sun
But the beat of
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
That continually spins the world?
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
#*Words are the chemicals
Packed in vials sublime
Untouched pure in time
Their base Property lyrical
Words are the coefficients
Reactants , The Thoughts and Emotions
To balance the emotional equation
Poetic are the words omniscient
Combustible the thoughts, fragile the emotions
Handle with care , the equations
Cold storage processed, refilled
Magnanimous ,the words distilled
Thoughts never too dormant
Never static the emotions
The words a kinetic solution
Potential they have Charmant*#
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 4:32 AM UTC
I need to read love poetry
For the same reason monks read bibles
the irrepressible need to believe
That love exists
That love is omnipresent, omniscient, all powerful
That it is eternal
For someone somewhere, at least
The emptier I feel, the more I read
Let me believe
Someone kisses
Crusty eye-lids in perfect bliss
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 5:20 AM UTC
the ashes of ancient
alchemical martyrs glow
in the great tunnels
of Hadron, whizzing
faster than time
at the behest of man,
the measurer of all things
including whether things
are worth measuring or not
a sordid joke on the great minds
that sorted the mystery out
long before quantum physicists
crawled out from under
the church’s labyrinth
of insulting confabulations
and pillaged the fortunes of others
to build the great rings
shall we bow to the new God?
**** your experience, I’ll prove you wrong*
He bellows from the podium built from
the finest endangered trees
and polished with the spit of
all who disagree, and yet
it’s truth in action
the 9mm’s omniscient song
sung across this suffering world:
**** with me, and you’ll discover the truth**
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 7:36 PM UTC
By the 1960s, a disillusionment with Nationalism and war was permeating within the public consciousness.
Man: jazz. Jazz! Everything sounds like jazz when you lend your hears an oscilloscope. You know what j-a-z-z sounds like? Well, it’s sweet, serendipitous or nonsensical, nihilistic. Modern in stainless steel or anachronistic in brass. Jazz! So what? Jazz sounds like anything that’s everything and vice versa. It’s a limb of that omniscient looker up and over: the tune itself. Oh, the tune? It’s what lies between your fingers when you’re writing, forging, loving, giving, perishing. You strut with the frequency of a conduit, but an unaware one at that. A change is gonna come in mere years, I know that much. Everyone will be deloused in the pain of the world; Mother Sympathy for all, even the charlatans who hide behind their crimson fur! All I’m saying is, whoever brings it ought to be from this place. I can’t fathom a recalcitrant extraterrestrial handling our own business at the expense of their planet’s water supply. I’m excited for whatever comes, believe me. So long as it ends me and with me.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 7:45 PM UTC
V. Ethereal
Maybe being drunk
is the closest I will
ever get to zero gravity--
to walking on the moon.
My fingers curled
around the neck of a liquor bottle,
I wander to my bedroom window,
as a tipsy weightlessness settles
amongst my limbs
(and my thoughts).
Swaying slightly,
I part the curtains and,
in my intoxicated stupor,
search for Polaris in the night sky,
point to it,
press a clumsy hand to the glass,
convince myself that
I have captured the star,
and all the omniscient power
it possesses,
beneath my finger tips.
Star light,
{lips pant--
inebriated,
heavy}
star bright,
{my breath appears a catalyst
as the window pane glazes over
in an impenetrable paroxysm of fog}
first star I see tonight,
{I take a swig,
raise the bottle--
a toast
to the cosmos}
I wish I may,
{Lashes meet in
silent matrimony}
I wish I might,
{Behind closed, desperate eyes,
ribbons of colour dance
towards me in a disoriented jig}
have this wish I wish tonight--
to be
obliterated by the very galaxy
that birthed
these grieving bones
and this tumultuous heart.
Because only then--
as the Gods paint the Night
with the innards of my soul,
acrylic purples
churning against the blackness--
will I become what I
have always dreamed
of becoming:
Lovely.
Ethereal.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 11:57 AM UTC
torn jeans
dimples
station wagons
shifting eyebrows
eager hands
wry smiles
chapped lips
cheap beer
deep-set eyes
pirated music
hates his birthday
stoplight-kisses
star-gazing in cornfields
****** knuckles
broken minds
lanky limbs
poetry books
scruffy faces
jet-black coffee
calloused hands that still feel soft
adventurer's heart
jumping fences
midnight tokes
always gives you hickeys
always opens your door
worn sneakers
chewed pen caps
late for work
old windbreakers
dirt under his fingernails
omniscient smirks
expensive cologne
good intentions -
but is bad with goodbyes
hates himself for making you cry
broken cigarettes
aviator shades at night
a perpetually furrowed brow
and a laugh that sounds like autumn leaves as they crunch beneath your feet
m.f.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
In the light
Shadows are prisoners
And prisoners we are to our shadows
But if shadows could speak
I think they'll say
*I am no prisoner
I am but a listener
I guide the light
and shape
the stars
I am detailed
craftily inked
I am what links
us all*
**In the darkness
Our shadows are free
And we are free from our shadows
But if shadows could speak
I think they'll say
***I am beyond free
I am everywhere
omnipresent
and omniscient
I shade what most
aren't aware of
I am the protector
The keeper
of all secrets
I am defined
by none***
But if shadows could speak
will anyone still feel lonesome?
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC
by: MissPine
Confidante — that's what I am seeking.
Over a thousand tears are still falling.
Longing for what they called love.
Only time could tell how it is tough.
Rollercoaster rides of painful stuff.
Come to me, Oh Clementine!
Omniscient I may be, but I am just a teen.
Dry my eyes as well as this heart of mine.
Empty my mind from thoughts once hide.
Dream about love is just like a tide.
Confident I am in this journey called life.
Rushed imaginations end not be by knife.
Unveiling on what I always been aiming.
Stop for seconds, guess I'm still dreaming.
Hope this be the last game I'm playing.
Who is that confidante I am looking?
The 'Color-coded Crush' who I'm loving.
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 7:49 AM UTC
We have souls that are plunging off this planet,
in hopes they will be swallowed by the cosmos-
fearing the hurt is never ending,
leads to renovations of existence.
To silence the beating
of a heart,
to end a life.
Morality is stuck behind
the gates of purgatory
& society is too scared of
what will happen
if we use our mouths for
meaningful conversation.
Indeed.
A tourniquet can stop the bleeding,
but can’t do justice for spread of infection,
or the scar serving as a reminder.
People are dying from depression-
faulty chemistry in the brain.
As well as suicide.
It is the crying of phantoms,
never to be heard-
wanting change,
a re-birth,
of the contorted humanity
we proudly call ”life”
Ache that’s carried lifelong,
but never resolved.
Truthfully,
those vague questions
don’t save lives.
Death knows this,
of course.
He is an omniscient force
lingering in the scenery.
Possessing the inability
to tolerate the teasing
and the wagers.
Coming to collect early
because, we’ve begun
to shatter
every fragment
of light
life reflected.
Now,
Darkness makes him feel welcome
and entitled.
KRM
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 2:41 AM UTC
There is something painfully wrong about
a mother’s cry.
In those seizing moments,
while her nose twitches
and her eyes bleed red
and she lets tears smear
jaggedly about her face-
there is something so unsettling,
so
out of place.
You perceived her once invulnerable,
but now you find
that behind her divinity are familiar fears
that overwhelm her omniscient mind.
When your own Goddess
can’t be free from corruption,
that even the holy
have weak heels and poisoned matrimonies;
that is
agonizing acrimony.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 3:55 PM UTC
Is mystery dependent on me thinking of mystery?
It is a safe bet.
For when what is central is knowledge, then I can only become aware of mystery if upon something new or unknown.
Thus, mystery is not knowledge, but the lack of it.
Mystery is ignorance.
Thus, my meditation is rather reflection on ignorance,
As if I'm trying to better describe ignorance, or find a way out of ignorance with only the experiential.
I think of mostly consciousness and the universe here, in terms of my and humanity's ignorance of them.
Not only am I limited by my own understanding but also the understanding of others, however much they are even more intelligent than me.
I see others working on problems that have proven to not solve the mystery, the mystery being ignorance.
The only thing that could solve it is omniscience.
Then it follows that what I'm really trying to solve is omniscience.
"Infinite cognition" as the Buddha put it.
Even if a person could have omniscience, it would be colored by how they can make sense of reality.
Knowledge would take the form of what is most familiar.
Thus, when wondering about a question as to what is pi, they may say about 3.14.
The answer conditioned on how people and the omniscient one would have the capacity to hear.
Maybe this seems more like intuition.
But omniscience would denote the person as a speaker, yet only allowable to speak as what was conducive for everyone's best.
This is how Baha'is look at Manifestations of God: only allowed to share a certain amount at a time.
Just as the Son said "I have many things to share with you, but you cannot hear them now".
Still their capacity would be limited to what they themselves were interested in.
For one who is marginalized and oppressed or even thronged by multitudes, often has no willingness to delve deeply into subject matter, it causing some to stray from a correct path.
Since fractal systems work strongest in more diverse settings, it would seem that the very thing that makes it strong also makes its capacity to hear weak.
Omniscience therefore, if given to only a few, has a limited range of effect.
But even this limited range would change the entire system.
As Baha'u'llah calls His followers "the leaven" and the Son calls His followers "the salt".
"Many are called but few are chosen" seems derogatory in a world where "ye are all the leaves of one tree".
World consciousness almost arose to love tonight, but the lover ensared it in his anger once again.
If I close my ears to them, will it go away?
If they close my ears to me, will I go away?
Strength in the diversity of parts.
Strength really meaning pain.
E Pluribus Unum.
Mar 8, 2021
Mar 8, 2021 at 1:30 AM UTC
Once of a bride was I by a belle informed;
Who, on the very night of their honeymoon
Upon sighting her groom's dower, screamed
And would not let him in for his ***** boon,
Until she's taken thru the script the following
Morn by her parson's wife in cool counselling.
Many things in morals and etiquette do
Parents their children ever and anon teach
Except on this single unfolding issue
Will they falter to them plainly preach:
The act of marriage in its detailed image,
Cause it's found nay on their nurturing page.
An African mother will quiver her girl to lecture,
For instance, in the subject under review,
But will leave it to the Omniscient Nature
To instruct her like cry to a curlew.
So the bride's mom will not to her say:
This is how you should roll in the hay.
Neither will a father his son likewise tell
Explicitly of this duty--this too I know--
How to make his led-to-the-altar angel
Fly on cloud nine during their maiden show.
My pa never me of this nuptial scene told,
How in bed my lady I should stylishly hold.
Yet instinct, that great ancient teacher,
The green Adam and ****** Eve taught
On man's debut moment of ecstasy ever,
And did lead him to her piquant spot,
Whilst one another they caressed for affection,
Premiering for all couples conjugal copulation.
And the animals who do not the wisdom
Of man have, even every diminutive creature,
How each by divine smarts in their kingdom--
Like the fish in the sea of their rapture--
Do with themselves mate with none
Giving them tutorials nor showing them ****
To close this up where it had first started:
The *iyawo after the pending deed was done,
As it should betwixt man and wife, delighted
Was and with glowing warmth did thence burn
In the hearth of her *ókò with ultra joy,
Who at the beginning of performance was coy.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 4:43 AM UTC
When I leave this town of sticks and stones,
And make way through the thick, dense fog,
I will no longer feel anxiety pouring over me,
Will no longer be, a bump on a log.
When I rome free through the wild outdoors,
I will no longr contemplate my past,
The moment I achieve pure happiness,
Wanting the moment to forever last.
When I long to see my boyfriend,
I won't lie there foolishly and cry,
Because life is about diversity,
To progressively advance and try.
When I learn the true meaning of, "I love you,"
I will feel omniscient and strong,
Despite my hardships,
Whether right, or whether wrong.
When Im off to college,
New doors will open up for me,
Such extraodinary opportunities out there,
For such a dedicated, yet small me.
When I'm married to the man I love,
My wasted thoughts will leave my head,
I'll only worry about the choices I made,
The actions I took, and the things I said.
When I achieve my dreams,
Self-actualized, I'll surely be,
Hoping to some day become a legend,
With endless things to see.
When I'm eventually deceased and gone from this world,
I will have looked back and said I tried,
Tried to make use of the life God left me with,
Along such a beautiful, bumpy ride.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 7:05 PM UTC
you get so used to something;
to someone;
never expect them to abandon you
though you condoned their departure
you saw it coming
it was all experienced yesterday
except, then
it was only a distant speck
you brushed away the dust you kicked up and
ignored the arguments that weighed on your conscience
you saw it coming
yet it still hits you like a freight train
with your back to it;
your earphones in
because you were trying to enjoy a walk
on such dangerous tracks;
such thin ice
you saw it coming
so what choice do you now have
but to finally collapse;
to let it run you over
and let your
omniscient bones
break?
you saw it coming,
but you let it hit you anyway.
please, get out of the way next time.
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 1:12 AM UTC
You there
Yes you
You sit there so quiet
Pretty blonde hair, green eyes
You play with dolls you don't notice peoples size
You see beauty and that's all
You there
Yes you
You sit there so quiet
Pretty dark blond hair, green eyes
You cry in front of the mirror because someone told you someone told you to hate your size
You see ugly and that's all
But wait
You there
Yes you
Pretty red hair, green eyes
You stay so quiet
You sit in the bathroom
You play with razors because someone told you someone told you to hate yourself
You see red and that's all
But wait
You there
Yes you pretty black hair, green eyes
You still sit in silence
You play in the bathroom
You won't keep anything down
They taught you to keep up the hate
Hate yourself
But wait
You there
Yes you
Faded blonde hair, dull green eyes
You will lay there screaming, **with no one hearing **
All you are is an empty shell
They taught you hate and **now it's too much **
You'll lay in the hospital
But It’s still to much
But wait
You there
Yes you
Hair freshly dyed blonde
Eyes shut so tight
Ribbons over freshly cut wrists
Best dress on, white stained with red at the hips
You lay so quiet
Whispering your final goodnight
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
The ancient Chedi stands eternal
in the gated town of the golden land
among thousand peaks, this is the primary
pilgrims take refuge and tourists wow
can one have desire and not suffer?
therein the omniscient one answers
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 9:36 PM UTC
WHAT is a Hindu, a Moslem or a Christian?
Whence he comes and where he goes?
Ocean is a solution, salty, but-
Corers of Suns gleam on the crest of waves-
One, only One at the helm in the blue.
Pools and streams and lakes and bays
Wells and springs and rain and ice
We see nothing but a drop, in them drops
Nay, vapor condensed: Nay, H2O-right?
Think a little straight, sit up aright
Am I not right? -break, break that H2O
Baffling bright white-light you can see.
Of heat and Energy, Oh! 'Sivam'!
You may call it 'Noor' in Arabic
'Siv' in Sanskrit-what then-
Releases combustion in cells?
Nothing but very heat and Energy.
Uranium and Thorium release the same.
We find Energy unborn eternal
Omnipresent, Omnipotent
Omniscient, and Formless.
The Almighty is Brahma,
Paramatma and Allah.
Jehovah may be for some,
For some Agni, may be that-
Radiant and resplendent Yogic Light.
Cant you see Ocean in rain drop
Cosmic power in a cell or shell?
Cell or Shell-what is in a name?
Is chariot, coat or prison of the soul.
When walls get weak the soul will part
Out through the vent as air off the balloon.
Reading Holy Scriptures, not knowing the sense-
What use? -observe the Nature and think
Knowledge is a chain of fact as pearls
Stringed by Reason and Faith with a Coir of the Truth.
Tension brews as experiences tightly
Loaded on the string, still stronger by Faith.
Knowledge is light to enlighten the folk
Not to **** but for, co-existence in Peace.
=================
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 10:47 PM UTC
GHETTO GOSPLE.
You aren't born to please anyone, neither accepted by everybody.
But your purpose is to make sure you live good making better thangs, making thangs better.
Spreading love across to each and every one wisely. You're born to rule not ruled. Everyone is meant to live fee free. But it takes bravery to make a living, on the field of struggle, busting and jostling, in search for fortune, get yours, I'd get mine. living in dreams,
getting goals accomplished unyielding. Thinking of living again tomorrow,
when we hadn't none reaped ou'ta momentum. Is there future promised to us at all.?
When we had spent perhaps even the half of our lifetime , achieving nothang.
Stagnated, disdained, and denounced crazy sage, labeled mad. Does it not mean we were plagued? God forbid! Sango in the altar.
History's mystery new testament era. Jesus is Lord a slain Saint sent from above.
Make a melody 🎶 sing to the world, lengthening fasting season.
Faithful journey along with Supreme omniscient ghost. Awe! - C9fm
Mar 15, 2023
Mar 15, 2023 at 7:40 PM UTC
#Soaring over the idyllic fields of poet's day dreams
an opening exposes some endless blue
the sun cast's his golden rod
and waits while humming his bright tune
Suddenly submerged
for his bait we had chewed
turbulence drops yellow bags
and white fog blinds our view
The sun is toying with us
letting the line out farther and farther
the old sun and the sky
a departure within a departure
Finally the sun pulls the line
screaming, we steady then ascend
are we going higher now?
better make amends
via amens
Look all the fog is gone
this isn't the suns pole
the light is fleeing and
this cabinet grows so cold
The air thins into non existence
yet somehow we can breath
in these celestial waters
watch as the earth takes her leave
Reeling faster now
how these stars pass by
what's beyond the celestial sphere
this fisherman sure is spry
Finally a golden gleam approaches
splash through the pearly gates
into the net of heaven
pietistic fingers embrace
An omniscient voice speaks
NOT AGAIN, ANOTHER USELESS CAN?
and he tossed this metal heap away
who do I eat and who do I romance
It's going to be a long journey home.
#
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 2:54 PM UTC
Treacherously torrid torrential tempestuous
The warrior on the mountain confessed to us
Sordid sully suborn salacious
Only the worst will ever keep pace with us
In extremis extremity exigence exodus
Is the answer clear to all of us
Intuitional intrepid impetus intrigue
Spontaneity's tortoise trauma fatigue
Heuristic horizon hornswoggle huckster
Or just another cauldron muck stir
Mystical magical manumission mandate
That only the good would ever relate date
Fornicating fecund finite's fate
I can only hope it will be I rate
Tirade treatise's transpicuous treachery
Adjunct juxtaposition may get the best of me
Estranged ensemble's ethereal expletive
Won't be contained, like water in a sieve
Wanton wayward warrantee wrangled
And all of that surreal newfangled
Omnipresent omnificent omniscient omnipotence
How I wish I could float its boat sense
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 5:54 AM UTC
Words are a fickle thing.
They claim those faint of heart,
Destroying those heathenish men,
Who dare try to control the world
Through the power of words.
Those who try are instantly conquered
By the omniscient dictionary,
Destroyed by their constant use of a thesaurus,
And taken over by attempting mimicking another man’s voice,
Instead of trying to find their own.
They fail because they write for the wrong reasons.
They fail because of their selfishness.
They fail because they want fame.
They fail because their words are…
Lifeless….
Hopeless...
Stubborn…
Their words refuse to conform to their ideas.
Their words punish their minds with sleepless nights,
Over their horrid word choice.
Crush their dreams with metaphor upon metaphor.
Win over their imaginations by continuous simile stacking.
Imagine if you would,
Attempting to perform heart surgery,
With a sledge hammer,
While a hungry lion is in the room,
And you’re in your underpants.
That is the challenge that these miserly men face
When they sit at their desks, with their pens twirling,
And their minds racing, asking why their characters
Are like puppets with no puppeteer.
Why their poems have no reason.
Why their words truly have no power.
When you write, think not about what you want to accomplish.
Don’t think about what will make people stir.
Think about what you feel.
Feel your heart pound and your soul quake.
When your words make you want to dance,
That’s when you know that you wrote something worthwhile.
Because it made sense to you, someone else will feel it.
Someone else will know exactly what you mean.
Always remember that your first draft comes from the heart.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 4:19 PM UTC
I wish it was easy to say who I am.
I wish God was less of a creator and more of an author
Ink stained fingernails glasses brimming the edge of his nose type
Whiskey on the side of his computer; optional.
I wish that in place of these veins and hair and bendable thumbs
I had poetry, soliloquies, syllables, punctuations.
That marked my existence
I wish my mind was a novel and each word inside it
Moved through my organs and around my chest
And when you cracked it open knowing who I am
Would be as easy as reading a book
I wish that when I get so angry I forget to speak
That you could just rip off the end of my skirt and read the
Internal and omniscient monologue in place of my skin
That would explain everything
When I smile during turmoil I wish it wasn’t a mystery
And the chapters printed on my visible teeth
Could tell you exactly why.
If God was an author I would be a character
And each of my traits would have meaning, and significance
Why do I bite my nails?
Because when I was five years old I saw my mother do It and when I’m nervous
I do it to be close to her
That would be the reason and I wouldn’t have to sit and wonder about it
Because that fits my story
Every page of my life would be narrated by someone who knew
Me better than I knew myself and that, that
Would take a lot of pressure off my shoulders.
The horrible weight of self-defining
Wouldn’t it be nice to not have to discover yourself?
To have someone do it for you
Instead of taking years to find out that you work better under pressure
And that being a doctor really wasn’t your true calling after all
What if you could just look down at your body
And see words that told the story of you.
What if you were armed with the knowledge of knowing
Who you are and what your purpose is.
I wish I was literature
So finally I could through my hands up
Shout back at you saying “Here, look this is who I am.”
I like the sound of the ocean
Black and white movies
I get sad when it rains
Just read me.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 6:24 PM UTC
Upon a path of trepidation
Walked I along with hesitation
I trudged forth in contemplation,
Remarking on my indignation.
I felt as though the road would end,
Each step came forth again and again.
To pass the time, I counted sins,
Not religious exactly, just decision’s wind,
I thought of my own life, and how much change
Had plagued my mind and my own cage,
The prison in my head that I live through,
Even though there’s worse that I could do,
I closed that link before I could
Think of things I knew I should,
I “forgot” them throughout the years,
To push away all of my own fears,
With that then settled
The road I reveled.
I noticed the dust on this forgotten trail,
Each step disheveled the dirt so stale,
I noticed I hadn’t been the only one
To walk this trail and be undone,
But I was however the first in a while,
The steps i left behind me were straight and filed.
-
Withered whispering romance had wilted away
A faceless me, within I decayed,
The road was vast and all omniscient,
The weather indeed was quite consistent,
Muggy, dreary, a hint of mist,
Melancholy so, that I wished to be ******
I would have loved to be drunk again
As I had been so before like many men,
To take upon this journey but straight,
Would have felt like bringing train and freight,
It is important to realize
That I was alone and not in guise,
For to find myself, I was myself,
There was only I to seek for help.
-
about three days had passed along,
Wondering if I was even strong
Enough to find the cross in road
To decide which way that I should go,
When in sudden surprise there came,
The cross in road appeared to exclaim,
I could go straight, left or right,
As one would think it might,
But each direction had their own feel,
So much so, I thought it may not be real,
I gazed at each about an hour,
And witnessed their foretelling in my head as they showered.
-
The road ahead was static and unchanging
I found myself to be salivating,
Nervous, the feeling crept on through me,
The sensation of the same emotions, unruling.
I thought of the looming possibility,
That to change anything was not in my ability,
That I would be forced by past to walk this path,
Straight on and forward in a droning, mindless trance.
This startled me and I quickly thought
That I had best my chance be wrought,
Left or right, like straight, I felt both,
Like a voice somewhere inside bequothe,
“Lest ye not choose wrong dear boy,
Or you, I fear, will die empty in ploy.”
Chanting choruses of Gregorian nature
Repeated that stanza in mocking stature,
The repetition to the point of depravity,
I digressed, I became my insanity.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC