Friday, 8 January 2010


Trying not to trace the elements back to the beginning
Creates the illusion that happiness is about to kick in,
But that’s not to say the sun sets beyond your horizon,
Or that the remaining warmth keeps out the cold and
Seals the meat within.

Standing over the stove before you rinse away your sleep,
And landing in the alcoves of the dreams you keep, augurs well;
For all I ever offered you, and all you need for certain,
Is knowing that consideration of a tale is all I have to tell.

Speculation is effected, and the very next day begins again;
Ten more men consigned to the memory of a stained glass
Akin to walking in the frozen deep snow of forgotten ground;
To come upon the saddest known sight to contemplate before

And if everything we have been taught is biased and political,
And nothing ever thought about the fate of our convictions,
How then is it possible to learn the art of waking up
Without throwing up everything for eviction.

Now all the aforementioned - monitored and administered -
Bring out the tensions that our senses have forgotten,
And we sigh a million lifetimes worth of overdue responses,
Because the sinking system comes out of something that
Is slow remembered and long ago gone rotten.

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