Falcon2001 Posted November 17, 2002 Report Posted November 17, 2002 Unlimited, my horizons. I see unhindered by sight nor sound. Nothing short of an explosion of atomic magnitude could shake my dizzying heights. But yet a crack in the wall of truth Emerges as a lion from it's den Cracking open ripe fruits of halcyon dreams Scattering it's seed like frosted rain inside a snowglobe Silence Reigns. Nothing comes of nothing, let truth forsake itself For the sake of the bumbling masses who hold their lives Far above themselves, like a wandering mirror with no top nor end A moebius strip, endless and twisting, doth form the miracle Hark! Hear the fallen angels sing amongst themselves And dance heartily upon the fallen flowers of spring. I believe I have found the truth, the cure, within the disease Which spreads it's tendrils deeper, deeper. Alas the lack of immediate closure which would help one such as I Into a more medium and demanding medium, one of pen And ink and well and quill all of which are nothing swell That swells like the waves upon the shore which harken, harken, evermore. A rhyme? A rime. A simple thing, that makes the brand new bluebird sing. Nothing less and nothing more than what is desired of the whores. So I cut this poem to the quick. Rambling, madness, like a simple wit. The fool? The fool, such am such as I Who makes the Imperfect Angel cry. The imperfect angel refers to a single person. If you know who he/she is, then you get kudos, for you've read my work.
Rahsash Geldich Posted November 17, 2002 Report Posted November 17, 2002 Despite what the line about Imperfect angel says, I really like this poem. It reminds me of avoiding oblivion and keeping the world turning.
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