:: January Midnights ::
I wish I could forget about structure, grammar, coherency, audience, form, function, decency, and censorship and just....write.| [::..Curiousity..::] |
|---|
| :: Sated. |
| [::..Other Transgressions..::] |
| :: Why? |
| :: Because. |
| :: I said so. |
:: Tuesday, March 09, 2004 ::
Heathen, I?
Yes, I am of the heath-
Born beneath a brier,
Bourne upon a bier,
I end a life in fire
To be born inside a tear
That gentle falls onto the soil
And wakes that gentle soul
From it's ever-growing toil
To rest, repose, console
:: Fox 1:27 PM [+] ::
...
Heathen child, o the energy
Found in you, twisting like the dusty dim
Of filtered stormy sundark in late afternoon
Patchouli incense that permeates the walls
That rises from the ill-swept floor
Ancient scents that linger
Ghosts of rituals long past.
In your youth, an age unnumbered
I watch your grim determination
Pull the years to you like scarves
Winding them around your body
Borrowed knowledge, arcane and precious
I do envy you, for I believe
That, though further from heaven
In height and life,
You are, oh newborn spirit
So much closer than I
To the divine.
:: Fox 1:09 PM [+] ::
...
