I wrote this maybe a few weeks ago. Thought I'd post it tonight just 'cuz I haven't posted anything in a while and haven't posted anything meaningful in a long while. So here 'tis.
Throwing philosophers like hammers through windows
Breaking the one offer like original sin does
Telling me it can’t work in the light of your holy books
Eating apples made by worms in crannies and nooks
In a monastery, preaching gospels of embellished fact
And saying your “fiction” is like a führer on crack
Ruling the world from centuries past in their
Mortar domes, cathedral homes, eating soma that
Came from the hands of their fathers before them
Hallucinating that only they can defend
The rights of the people from injustice within when
Instead they could be using those hammers for forging
Something so we’re not left foraging
For truth among the ashes of burnt libraries and revenge.
View User's Journal
Carpe Diem Ad Muertum
Sieze the day, to the death. There is no potential that shall be passed by, there is no piece of glory to fall by the wayside, there is no soul to left unsaved by the brilliance of language. As writers, we are gods.
|
 |
|||||||||||||||||
