Poetry
Dream 1 (11-15-97)
Dreaming of thrones
of Babylon falliing in ashes to the ground
Ripping the throat from a rabid wolf
before he poisons me. Excuse me?
Chosen (11-22-97)
I am Her Chosen,
yet for what She won't say
and I'm burned out on the whole hero thing
way too burnt and jaded to fall for that
hypno-magico-thraputic bullshit
some folks expect me to believe.
No magician or peacekeeper's gonna darg
our collective ass out of this
bloody fire we've stoked with our own damned children
All the old heroes are gone or dead
or gven up hope
And my feet are not the right size to
fit in their shoes--
Besides a guy running around with a sword
now gets pads on his walls
and staps on his bed.
Ain't no one altruistic and taken seriously
in this world...
So, I'm gonna go shopping for marshmallos
so I can toast 'em and laugh
as this place burns to the ground.
Darkness (11-24-97)
Swallowing, hiding
romanitc illusions out of the moonlight
suffocating, soft
time suspended like the shadow veiled assasin
I once pretended to be
Fearsome, unreasoning
pushes on like a madman's Blitz, or
the subtle purring of an old, comfortable cat.
All that Remains (11-24-97)
Our heroes are gone, and show no sign of returning
we are all that remains
Though they watch, the Gods too are gone.
We are all that remains
Though spirits are summoned and demons raised
we still are all that remains.
Rage (12-8-97)
A better friend's near impossible to find
no straighter nor truer
nore leaving you with nothing to give
so long as you handle her right
no better friend, no colder lover
than the blade I've been driven
to hold.
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