those always able are best after action,
learn to copy cost, then do daily,
lines give form, space their full idea,
only shadows still live, know machines lead,
the end and means make men nevermore,
nothing new that has not been,
the over powered is itself a product,
where they say together I see systems,
never beg the question who wants it
How come bed's require bedding?
Leaning towards a bed of litany and sorrow?
When bride chooses to wear white at the wedding
Does wealth equate to happy?
Why does this only seem to happen to me?
Is life really as bad as it seems?
Why do individuals run team's?
Where is the women of my dreams?
No honestly where is she?
I only ask?
Beg the question
Because
I have an insatiable urge for guessing
What is the point?
Of airing the bedding
After the marital wedding
Comes equipped with a joint bank account for sharing
Taking with it the sanctity and bother of actually caring
(This was originally intended to be a rap)
If the world is a stage and all the men and women merely players, fools and soothsayers, hold on to hope and say your prayers. If this is all a play then I beg the question which act are we in? Has Ophelia’s madness done her in, racing to the resolution, a memorable le fin? Or are we shooting for a matinee waiting to begin again?
If we only knew, maybe we should let God do what he do and write that final review.
He thought: “The leads were mostly brilliant if a little over paid, however the supporting cast came across as a little too naive, a little too easily swayed and one glaring plot hole made the end too inconceivable. See one would think that so many wouldn’t be so deceivable, that so few could exercise complete control, that the masses would willingly writhe around in a hopeless hole. In the real world majority would win, all those people would speak-up and make the few give in. Oh well, I give it two stars out of four and I’m eager to see what they come up with for an encore.”
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