Monday, October 31, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Heraclites
“A man’s character is his fate”.
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For it is the poet’s duty to repeat an old truth in a new language.
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Starving for that which has never been tasted, tasting that which has never been craved.
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Falling over our-selves to eat the flesh of beasts, obsidian spear pierces to the depths beneath.
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Like deities falling from the lofty sky, resentments reserved for the falling stars a-high.
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Weeping for the widower’s life, through darkness eyes anticipate light.
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Through doubt the soul is torn for lack, of faith in truth with heart of black.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Widow Maker
How long must I wait until the voices of the ancients speak to me?
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Detached from death by each long breath, I long for them to speak to me.
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Dragon red water breathing monster unleashes its sirens blare into the open air, mothers sacrifice their fingers to plug their babies ears. How long till they speak to me?
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Rising to the ether, urine fumes on San Francisco streets fill the air with the smell of death. I await the day they speak to me.
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Soon enough I will be summoned to stand, knees straight, teeth sharpened, trained to kill, ready to die; longing for the ancients to speak to me.
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I hear the "thump-thump" of my ancestors battle drum grow louder. I hear the "thump-thump" "thump-thump" of my heart grow fainter. The ancients are ready to speak to me.
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Warriors aligned, poised to fight;
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They yell
"CHARGE"!
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Saturday, October 8, 2011
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