Saturday, January 23, 2010


On thorns I slept,
Cold and unmoving,
Waiting for the harsh rays
Of day to pass over us.
It was the only constant
In this equation,
The bitter truth we fear,
The fear that binds us,
The binds that hold us
From what we are.
Weary I am,
And may remain;
Dreary and dreadful
As I've ever been.
This isn't a farce,
This is reality.

Perhaps that is the poison
Of life itself,
Miasmic and ill-contained.
We are the victims
Of our own doing,
As I'd like to believe.
For how can we not
Conceive the notion
That fate does not
Play the tragedy card,
We drew it from the pile
And painted irony on its face.
We are the ultimate joke here,
The wittiest quip
In this anthology;
That's how I see it.

So take me as I am,
Both learned and naive,
I know my place
And time,
Difficult it is some days.
But prove me wrong
If you dare try,
For truth or conflict,
I don't mind.
It's all the same
When it comes down to it.
Just as we are-
The same,
Despite our life views
And opinions.
And I truly don't care.
Just prove me wrong;
Give me something to laugh about.

**I wrote this back in October, but realized I hadn't posted it yet.. so here it is.