November 14, 2009

Inkling

Nov 2006
Shrouded in the shrine of pseudo day
Encircled by voluptuous thought
Lay the deity of love herself
Amidst the cackling and hoarse cries of success the whore
Yet oblivious to the seducer
Retained the mystical charm of old and lore
Oft find the seekers the rotten bread of answers and that in itself is the illusion
Finely crafted in the mystery
It plainly is all that you may question that science and your liar god cannot fill
And yet the pot bellied black holes suck in the spoils of your piousness
to satisfy the hunger pangs of their god who churns and purrs like a fat cat in the sun
The music beckons you in and leads u to your one truth
The delusion does not lie to you
The mystery is the only truth, the only clarity
All else is futile
All else ceases to mean a thing
The non believer is the one with more conviction
And a man’s principals need not go past the tightness if his fist…
When all is found, you lose the certainty of being lost
When all is said and done
Not even the tide will remain
For there will be no shore to linger on


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