sparr0w
05-29-2008, 07:22 AM
**This is part 1.2 of my ongoing work, titled The Politics Of Exile. If you have not yet read the first part, I recommend you first start with that at: http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showthread.php?t=35365
If you have commented on the first one, chances are I sent you a message letting you know about this, the second installment. If not, and you are first coming to this, and you first read the first part (the link above) and then this, please let me know what you think, if you have any suggestions, and also if you have criticism (as long as it's constructive). If you would like me to message you about future installments, just mention something in your comment, or send me a message. Otherwise, if I did message you about the second installment and you would wish I did not in the future, also let me know, as I don't want to be rude :) . Any-hoo, on to the poem. It's kind of a discourse about my take on existentialism and personal philosophy. Peace- Chris
The many antics of man fall motionless
before the grey screen of history.
Only drumrolls and brief explosions
collect within its memory.
Fate is an obscene gesture;
A lazy attempt at giving the annals of mans strivings
a cover between which to fall.
I ask you, is such justification necessary?
And if so, for God's sake, why?
Has the moment been lost upon us?
Have we already forgotten the meaningfullness
of meaningless self expression?
Is such self expression really meaningless after all?
For me, therein lies the value.
Animals such as us sometimes walk
for no better reason than to cast a shadow
and kick around a couple of rocks.
There is an entire universe upon those rocks, after all.
They have seen the maturation of our world.
Animals such as us have learned to express ourselves.
We have learned to paint, carve, draw, sculpt, and sing,
but we forget to play.
We forget to live.
We forget that life itself is the most perfect artform.
The most flexible.
The most honest.
Recognizing and manipulating the full spectrum
of human experience,
as if the spectrum was a set of paints
ranging from flawless whites
to bleeding burgandies
to blazing yellows
to mellow greyish blues (my favorite color of them all).
Experience deep scarring pain
so as to contrast it against overwhelming joy.
Be proud to aquire a sense of true humility,
and from that gain the kind of honest wisdom
that most never achieve before death.
I am twenty three years old.
I am a hundred thousand years wise.
It did not come easy.
It won't for you, either.
It is possible, however, in this fashion,
for man to become like God.
The only kind of immortality
which is possible for the likes of us to achieve,
and how glorious it is.
This is my philosophy, and also where my story begins.
**Again, any and all comments welcome, as well as criticism, as long as it's constructive. Peace!
If you have commented on the first one, chances are I sent you a message letting you know about this, the second installment. If not, and you are first coming to this, and you first read the first part (the link above) and then this, please let me know what you think, if you have any suggestions, and also if you have criticism (as long as it's constructive). If you would like me to message you about future installments, just mention something in your comment, or send me a message. Otherwise, if I did message you about the second installment and you would wish I did not in the future, also let me know, as I don't want to be rude :) . Any-hoo, on to the poem. It's kind of a discourse about my take on existentialism and personal philosophy. Peace- Chris
The many antics of man fall motionless
before the grey screen of history.
Only drumrolls and brief explosions
collect within its memory.
Fate is an obscene gesture;
A lazy attempt at giving the annals of mans strivings
a cover between which to fall.
I ask you, is such justification necessary?
And if so, for God's sake, why?
Has the moment been lost upon us?
Have we already forgotten the meaningfullness
of meaningless self expression?
Is such self expression really meaningless after all?
For me, therein lies the value.
Animals such as us sometimes walk
for no better reason than to cast a shadow
and kick around a couple of rocks.
There is an entire universe upon those rocks, after all.
They have seen the maturation of our world.
Animals such as us have learned to express ourselves.
We have learned to paint, carve, draw, sculpt, and sing,
but we forget to play.
We forget to live.
We forget that life itself is the most perfect artform.
The most flexible.
The most honest.
Recognizing and manipulating the full spectrum
of human experience,
as if the spectrum was a set of paints
ranging from flawless whites
to bleeding burgandies
to blazing yellows
to mellow greyish blues (my favorite color of them all).
Experience deep scarring pain
so as to contrast it against overwhelming joy.
Be proud to aquire a sense of true humility,
and from that gain the kind of honest wisdom
that most never achieve before death.
I am twenty three years old.
I am a hundred thousand years wise.
It did not come easy.
It won't for you, either.
It is possible, however, in this fashion,
for man to become like God.
The only kind of immortality
which is possible for the likes of us to achieve,
and how glorious it is.
This is my philosophy, and also where my story begins.
**Again, any and all comments welcome, as well as criticism, as long as it's constructive. Peace!