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Details | Ambiguity Poem | |

Tunnels Of Ambiguity (A.hail.Of.bullets.Is.All.i.feel Remix)

On trains
             on trains
                        trains that travel through tunnels of ambiguity in delusion
The rectangular motion of the subtle wheels meld into the subconscious 
A failed and flawed and fragrant commuter routine of blood sweat and ignorance.
And ignorance of blood and sweat and tears 
                                                  and tears of blood sweat in ignorance

Outside fragmented windows stand the borders of disease that border humanity as a whole
Humanity is a disease some would say
                                some would say it isn't.
A chaotic jumble of envy and spiritless ineptitude is all that I can view in the darkness 

We all roll into the station whilst time grinds still but in the precious seconds we can't
keep still.

Forged and tattered tickets to oblivion checked by the conductor of greed.
We all conduct greed at some point in our life
We just need a nudge and a wink to get back on track.

The end of the line stretches into infinite divergences.
And on another platform somewhere stands a man who looks just like me
And who smiles just like me
And who cries just like me
But maybe he will not die quite like me
And maybe if we met he would not like what he sees in me.

Details | Ambiguity Poem | |


Ambivalence amends itself 
when ambition challenges the amoral freedom
like the ambrosia we partook of,
something prohibited to humans...
that only the mythological gods
had the pleasure to enjoy;
and we adorn our heads with narcissus,
defying our worthless repulsion...
until we suffer the first defeat with dismay:
and as ambiguity leads to anguish,
there's little left that we can relish!

What if shame made us anonymous,
and all the senseless living done:  were bleak existence,
cursing torment persistently to absolve every fault...
nipping the nocturnal stillness 
with its fulsome, invariable obscurity?
We'll irrupt our consciousness,
make an invidious invocation to nothingness,
inviting helplessness irascibly:
and as ambiguity leads to anguish,
we have no choice but to invent excuses,
making up words to invert another unsound thought!     

Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci