Psyche
12-12-2004, 07:10 AM
I do not write much poetry, in the rhyming sense...more what comes (err, spews at too rapid a rate) out of my mind.
Your comments are greeted with a smile.
Are you haunted by those stone gray walls?
The wet cement a memory of your shame.
Reality calls with its annoying chirp as I draw a skin graft, struggle to make it stick.
Our insides our wilting My Dear, an insidious plague brought on
by The Need
for The Salt
from the ocean we never visit anymore...
Almost every second, unless we simultaneously visit its parallel,
curls into memory.
All biological clocks turning to alarm mode.
We do not realize how little time these shells retain.
A lamenting hope for every individual...angst ridden, fear laden, curdled and weighed down.
Broken, the chain of DNA as a metaphor for Ego.
And then in retrospect, we are all Gods.
Your comments are greeted with a smile.
Are you haunted by those stone gray walls?
The wet cement a memory of your shame.
Reality calls with its annoying chirp as I draw a skin graft, struggle to make it stick.
Our insides our wilting My Dear, an insidious plague brought on
by The Need
for The Salt
from the ocean we never visit anymore...
Almost every second, unless we simultaneously visit its parallel,
curls into memory.
All biological clocks turning to alarm mode.
We do not realize how little time these shells retain.
A lamenting hope for every individual...angst ridden, fear laden, curdled and weighed down.
Broken, the chain of DNA as a metaphor for Ego.
And then in retrospect, we are all Gods.