May 17, 2010

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    Rushing to Obscurity

     

    Desires once built with dreams have crumbled

    As the bitter acids of frustration

    Gnaw enigmatically at his interior walls

    And each spasm - each elaborate betrayal

    Becomes his personal Corregidor (small "c" perhaps?)

    Blind tunnels and abandoned passages - Deserted halls

     

    Once - His entrails filled with sweetened juices

    Confident covenants untroubled and secure

    Wonders created with paint and brush are past

    Now childish self-promises go unfulfilled

    As failures flood him with remorse

    The cracked and brittle time-glass spilled

     

    There is no God they say to him

    Could this be true? - How do they know?

    What's even more important - should he care?

    And these assassins who say God is dead

    Who asked them anyway? - Why do they inundate

    And drown him in such dread despair?

     

    He cannot fight or keep them off him any more

    He is exhausted - A cynical and misanthropic mite

    They've beaten him - They've chopped him down

    Why has he let them do this without even a dissent?

    Must he accept his sentence and submit?

    Is nothing left except to wear the thorn-filled crown?