Saturday, September 03, 2005

The musing continues

I talk with friends who are callow, who know only of words that are hollow.
The truth that I swallow, in pain I perceive my pristine depths as shallow.

Gone is the rosy feel of beauty, replaced by a sense of murky duty.
That which shimmered then is now sooty, heart's jewels a mad man's booty.

Now lies in broken shards the dream, and I compose my own requiem.
Laughing at the irony as it might seem, its blood as tears that I deem.

I have to clean my wounds in your shade, wait for all the horrors to fade.
I wont sell my soul in any trade, will stay true to the promise I made.

Give me the heart of the iron clad, eyes that will bore through good and bad.
Through the eudaemonic and the sad, through eternal wisdom and whimsical fad.

Let me bury the dagger in my heart, fit the square wheel on to the cart,
carry my demons right from the start, so that life is again synonymous as art.
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