||[May. 5th, 2005|12:10 am]
Rose petals wilt as a chill sets in
A wintry night descends to meet me
A dream to be dashed upon the shores of indifference
Cold ice forms on the tip of an outstretched hand,
No solace can be found as the arctic has claimed their hearts.
A hand pointing forward, guiding the way,
Leading a non existent exodus into the future,
It all falls into a cesspool of apathy
The truth is honest, as stagnant as water.
Flies twirl over the lost corpse of desire,
The end was ordained before it began,
The future was written by the mistakes of the past,
An Armageddon of belief,
An end to the faith
To comfort and console,
Never to guide or lead
As the sheep run to their shelter,
The butchers wave their cane,
Those left to the cold, gaze with saddened eyes
They see underneath: those hidden knives.
Sacrificed to the altar, believe in your fate,
Paradise awaits you; do not pursue it on life,
I must lead by example and illuminate the path,
We are destined to be forgotten our lights extinguished in mind
The path can be shown, not followed, but lit
The future waits, as does each road to it,
Let the sheep see the light, let them follow their whim,
And let their mind be their own not guided by fate,
The spiral never moves, you only slide upon the plane
Let us slide to our wills, and fly forward to the light,
Let us be free of ourselves and escape this cold night.
I've been stumbling through some old files looking for a paper to turn in for my creative writing class
(don't get me started, the thought of someone actually being able to get a degree in that makes me want to curl up and die)
IT occured to me that my writing needs honing, as I read these old texts I realize.....I suck.
I would ask a boon of any reader, give me a subject, any subject or theme or notion and leave it in a comment, In return, I'll produce a story out of it, no matter how far fetched or zany it is. I need the practice and would be very much obliged.