Friday, October 8, 2010

Life: An Imaginary Solace from a Finite Nature

A morbid obsession
With no reigns to grasp
A self propelled carriage
That only stops upon introduction to a brick wall
Like Hollywood movies
The ending is clear
But how do we get there, from here?
Silent clues in kindergarten drawings
Trace the future in chunky lines
Of primary colors
Spilling out all over the page
Hearts and hands replace blood and gore
And the lead-up is anticlimactic
A slow lull in time
The calm before the storm
Technology squashed him like a bug
So into his imagination they moved
To recreate a playful fantasy
Of just a single week
As if it stood apart
From the previous three hundred fifty
But the heart heals quickly if you let it
And old pastimes become new
In the sense that someone is missing
But temple wounds from smoking barrels
Bruises from table legs
And cuts from flailing drunken fingertips
Prove not much has changed
And all that's left is to wonder
If nothing changes anyway,
Then what's the point of dying?

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