November 14, 2009

Ascetic Too Early

Sunday, 14 December 2008 at 15:26
Must bonds of blood impose upon the heart,
that treacherous, treacherous heart?
The tempest of tears has washed itself away
Nothing absolves the shame I cling on to
For dear, sweet nothings
I forsake the certainty of my path
So clearly laid, for a whim?
May be so, Surely so.
But it is all mine to abandon
The strings I tug on tug at me alone
For oft the path untrodden
The path too easily taken
Must remain for our aftermaths
When our mettle by trouble is shaken
For an illusion of responsibility
Ties created to the tune of what ought be
And fantasy must reclaim leftovers of the noose.

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