Tuesday 3/16/2010 01:27:00 AM

Time sputters. Slit throats. Sift these lives through meaty sieves. Time vomits. Sick. With too many lives. Innocent and guilty of the crimes we commit. The rabbit pokes from its hat. But we see through its magic. The curtain stands between. The illusion and the belief.

This high pushes us too close to heaven. Too near to the devil's depths.

Wading through the floods. The fallen trees. Searching for light in interminable darkness. It is our power. We light the world and we shroud it in darkness.

These feeble machines will always fail us. Bone and skin. The sweet of flesh betrays spoiled prisoners. The cages we cannot see. How are we to escape them?

This ugly world is too beautiful to disdain. Even in my captivity. This weak ladder which promises the surface. How am I to trust it?

Time dies the same as we do. Sliced across the neck. Time lives that same as have. Wondering what is next.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2024. All Rights Reserved.