17 Oct 2014

too long trying to promote the myth of myself, i see
the arguments are only numbers, but that is all that is left of the world
i have lived beyond where the dna yelled to stop
overstayed the desire of the world to pin me down with apologies
we should spend all of our hours in mourning
but there are things to do, each a small forgetting of our humanity
as we rather than to measure the proper sadness
the abyss we stare down cannot be as deep as the memory of eden
the night not so dark that we can imagine it infinity
the sum total of our forgetting is an arbitrary zero, the vague nothing
dreams emerge from a different kind of numbness
and the myth of me is a poem writ of such haze, how i cracked my halo
as infinities i imagine touch at the surface of night
the dream shifts planes and leaves me earthbound once again, here
to forget good and evil like the dream came true
i mend my busted halo in the pools of sorrow, the tears of night, alone

posted by John H. Doe @ 5:06 am

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