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The Madman, "Yes, three days, three centuries, three aeons. Strange they would always weigh and measure. It is always a sundial and a pair of scales."

Wednesday, February 17, 2016


As I turn to stone,
Buried under ages of sooty stillness,
Eyes open
And glare down on my snug convenience
From within.
Consciousness rumbles,
Trying to shake off fossilized thoughts.
It inches its tempted tentacles
Towards wondrous hazards,
Hypnotized by the mellow, mutinous song of the soul.
Sacrifice is in order
As revived gods erupt into tumultuous dance
Atop barren, volcanic alters,
Crying for fire in their overflowing hunger.
I choose I must burn, let my being melt grain by grain.
This burning is the birth of my free will,
A prison bound in desire,
A labyrinth that twists itself into paradoxes
Every time it turns.
Every time it dies, it comes alive.
Such is the world I create,
Such is the grave I dig for myself.
In undying life, i meet certain death.

1 comment:

  1. Yes. Yes. Yes. Re-think. Re-look. Feel, really feel. Are we still who we think we are?