“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Sunday, June 11, 2017
Free Will-but save yourself
The whole truth and nothing but the truth,
You can't handle the truth-
Truth be told,
If you dare,
I swear on my life
It had all been said before as time and time again repeats itself, this time is different,
as assertion or assumption that the old is new again-this time
there is no way all the way around without seconds-
You've tried before, before the moments meant more than muddled memory of cake,
a building block, an hour glass or year more changes things, dims the lighting while we change
and seek something original before sunset-
Yet nothing new or true has been said yet...
except we still try (and propose)
we still lie (and suppose)
we still die, believing legacy lasts longer than I told you so,
as though the truth shall set you free
to choose
just
one.
Painting by Anne-Louis Girodet de Roussy-Trioson (1786) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
And then...
Change is like that strong smell of cut grass or chopped wood that stops you still. Patterns, a symbol can be an illegible sign, at first...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...
-
This world is not for breath for feelings also come and go. As hard and light as Push and pull Go. Busy hands and bees-electricity, alter...
No comments:
Post a Comment