Omerta

things'll be alright
they always are.
living life
through blind optimism
always looking to the future
knowing that theres
a silver lining to every dark cloud
that theres a pot of gold
at the end of a rainbow
that after the storm comes peace
believing
that life is like a box of chocolates
you dont know what youre gonna get
but youre sure itll be sweet
and even if it isnt
youll get over it
wake up kid.
things arent as they seem
clouds dont go away so fast
rainbows dont even have an end
sorry to burst your bubble pal
but thats reality
thats the real world
yeah sure
life is like a box of chocolates
some of em might be sweet
some of em might be sour
but face it
you'll get a poisoned one soon enough
and there aint no cure for that
some things dont change
the inevitability of destruction
is one of them.

is optimism naive?
is pessimism suicidal?
is the middle ground even there?
no extremes.
just a sliding scale.

doing but not doing
feeling but not feeling
thinking but not thinking
sleeping but not sleeping
dreaming but not dreaming
living but not lving.
like a scraped out husk
exhausted
tired
run dry
words
are but a mask
without meaning
they convey no message
they tell no one
how you feel
this word
is it real?
do i write
do i speak
my heart?
can i?
or issit another impossible fantasy?
what then can convey meaning?
a kiss?
a slap?
a pat on the back?
its all in the eyes they say
but what if you have no eyes
have you ever stared into someone's eyes
a portal into his mind
to stare in a black hole?
to expect to find
but find emptiness
and void?
meaningless
meaningless
meaningless
everything is meaningless

the death of innocence

there goes the young lad
sprightly one isnt he?
running round the dandelions
with that lady of his
oh what bliss it must be
to sit and be young
on this bright summer day
why
the flowers seem to bloom for him
the sun shines brighter for her
and together
the trees and the earth
radiate a joy unheard of
how long will they stay young and happy?
forever you say?
think again.

look at that man
shrivelled
dishevelled
he sits in the mud
motionless
the rain beats on him
but he cares not
clutching a dead rose
he sits next to his lovers grave
his eyes like two pools of death
glow with an unearthly auora
like a ghost
doom hangs on him
he longs for death to come swift
and relieve him
but death will not
he will play with his prey yet
and deny him peace
death will see him rot and die
death will wait for him patiently
as he drives himself into madness
into insanity
now the man knows
now he sees
summer is gone and winter comes
the sun has left and the clouds return
the flowers die and wither away
the skies are polluted with darkness
and the man sits
and wonders
and thinks
for though he is not dead
he is dead.

news flash-
rugby world cup champs england
suffers two hours training setback today
as players walked off field
they noticed powdery white substance on ground
coach, clive woodward, halted training
to allow for a full police investigation
Scotland Yard later determined the white
was the try line
and after assuring players that they would
not be seeing it anytime soon
they allowed training to resume.

haha, good on eh?
ive got more up me sleeve!
im saving them for telling though
not as fun to read it!

wasting

posted by S @ Tuesday, December 09, 2003