by Quillan
A week passes by, time uncontrollably careens
Defining insignificant epochs of nothingness
The mind surrealistically spins and contemplates
The brain tenuously churns and calculates
The body painfully occupies and employs
The heart weeps from whorish desuetude
The spirit divagates like a fatigued vagabond
And the soul meanders among nebulas of truths
The brass ring is beyond the grasp of carnality
Time after time after fuckin' time
Yet once in hand, the tarnish is manifested
The raven is perched on the sill of worldviews
Cawing and laughing at the disease of religion
The moon turns red at the witching hour
Glowing on the celestial ceiling of opportunity
A bottle of cheap wine reflects her glow
As the masses search for one God in the heavens
A moth is trapped within the lampshade
Where light and eventual darkness converge
And warmth and cold solitude coexist
A confluence of good and evil
A concourse of elusion and absolutism
An intersection of immortality and mortality
A pathetic dilemma common to man and moth
Just flip the switch, you vexatious son of a bitch
Good night and sweet pleasant dreams, my love
Slumber is a circumscriptive tranquilizer
A prescription of dubiety and interim allayment
Note:
Taken from my 3rd book Epistola III - Soul Wanderings (Sep 2005). Click here for poem/book as well others, and click here for my 11th book project.
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