Lambert
08-29-2007, 08:13 AM
Geist
History, a distillation of rumour.
- Thomas Carlyle
We can not bear the weight of it's deception,
Power as the spectre, glimpsed and Unknowing.
We resolved to outmanoeuvre it, track it in
Dense yellow pages. Those blackened pages
Were our folly, for there it remained unseen,
In the gaping voids between our text, our record.
And then, it dissolved-
That was it's furtive ploy, coiled within
The conspiracy of History.
These cupped hands cannot hold it's water.
The water, brown and murky, seeps, spills,
Spreads through the dry land.
Here now, we are left barren, left to wander
The nightmare of the unpredictable, the paradoxical,
Where days are stretched like hides at a tannery.
History, a distillation of rumour.
- Thomas Carlyle
We can not bear the weight of it's deception,
Power as the spectre, glimpsed and Unknowing.
We resolved to outmanoeuvre it, track it in
Dense yellow pages. Those blackened pages
Were our folly, for there it remained unseen,
In the gaping voids between our text, our record.
And then, it dissolved-
That was it's furtive ploy, coiled within
The conspiracy of History.
These cupped hands cannot hold it's water.
The water, brown and murky, seeps, spills,
Spreads through the dry land.
Here now, we are left barren, left to wander
The nightmare of the unpredictable, the paradoxical,
Where days are stretched like hides at a tannery.