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margoshka contemplates, ruminates... meditates on life, love, basketball, poetry, choice, and the lack thereof. |
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Saturday, October 26, 2002
Misty waterfalls meander meaningfully by the candle-light,
as sagging memories whisper meaningless suffering into your dirty ears.
Clogging pores with the sweetness - the air sticks, and mimics
the vacuum of loneliness, the pretty sad milieu of adverts and cigars.
It shudders in the wind, the window shut up tight,
but all the while, so small and vile, a frightened child is crazed, eyes wild
staring, uncaring of the cold or the snow, searching for signs of a lantern
down below.
Shiver. slight humming. a hunch. someone out there hasn't eaten his lunch.
someone out there isn't out for fun. someone out there lies clinging to despair,
his eyes full of sad tears meant for years ago... long ago.
Who's stopping the flow?
Who's closing the door?
on the sweaty confusion of our current illusion. there's no strife,
or nagging fear of enchantment, only fear of contentment... abandonment.
Seclusion. And torment.
It - will form it. Trust to the sky and the clouds passing by,
To nourish this earth with clear blisters from up high.
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