The Self
Forget the self for a moment,
what do you get?
a vehicle of flesh, bone and blood.
This feeling of dissatisfaction
creeps up like a parasite ready to suck
out my ivory soul,
a meat shield to break for others.
The fine wine, trickles down
first my lips then my chest,
way down to my shady feet.
a cradle for disease and emotion.
Ashes within my thoughts, for
my brain is smouldering with jealousy,
a walk way with beautiful people.
a load of redundancy and tradition.
Five hundred miles in each
direction, somewhere has my mind.
Believe in God they say, they say.
a train wreck of to do's and do nots
Here are my views, take them
or leave them, they construct
upon the base of a newly born child.
a piece of literature that is incomplete.
Ho-ho! we dream, and dream we
shall, until reality intermixes with
our desires and so we wait.
a bitter, polluting waste in nature's mouth.
Forget the self for a moment,
what do you get?
I think, you think, we all think...death.
Copyright © Marcello Colasurdo | Year Posted 2010
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