Sunday, 12 February 2017

Scribing 21 - Au Bout du Monde

The man walks sullenly up the hill
Hoping for a change of heart
To come frivolously climbing
Like a pestering vine
From his balls to his brain

Sadly,
I don't know
How many people will go
To the ends necessary

We're all in the same boat here

In the end
It doesn't matter
End of will
End of an age

People flying
Like pink pigs
Crying
Death so close, but no one knows
How to die

Could this be any more morbid?

Sadly, the jaded man
Knew all the truth

Walk with me and  listen, he says
The shit-stirrer walks among us
Wishing to stir some shit

We all have shit to stir
The stirrer knows how and will

Suck it up
Little boy
Be a man
Withhold those tears

Watching death, so repetetively
on the tv screen
Shows me morbid fantasies of another realm

I like them, he says
I abhor them, I says
I am split, I knows,
He knows

Sands in the hour glass
So are the days of our lies

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