| POEMS: 250309 - March 25th, 2009 |
http://groups.google.com |
| Robert Morpheal, Bob Ezergailis, Morphealism (morpheal@yahoo.com) |
2009/03/25 00:05 |
250309A
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The time passes away,
in being joined
with nearly anything
that one can never really be
any real part of.
The illusions of knowing
eventually fall away,
the way mourning veils fall
always revealing the features
of unknown faces.
The erosion of familiarity
continues to eat away
at the clock and its memories,
slowly absolving the past
of all its attributed meanings.
The experience takes on the flavor
of mouthfuls of emptiness,
destroying all anticipations,
along with all of the reasons
for making the journey.
The idea that I would find you
among all the cultural debris,
is something else I must give up.
You were never there,
and now I am too broken to find you.
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250309B
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It always costs something
for what you chance to get,
what you really ever need.
You never stop falling,
and even when you start to think
that you are getting up,
you only go down again.
.Just when you start to believe
that you are really in,
you get to watch the door close,
leaving a scar on your face.
They always make you fight,
even if you can never really win,
anything you ever fought for,
and you can try to fight that too.
They only make you bleed
in thousands of different ways,
until you do not really know
of anything else except bleeding.
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250309C
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The black alphabets
crawling off of white pages,
advancing the way swarming ants advance
to consume away any exposed flesh.
I feel the remains of my touch
being eaten away down to the bones,
starting from my rejected fingertips,
and crawling up my forsaken arms.
That is what can sometimes result
from expecting far too much,
and from having read far too much
in between the lines of our alphabets.
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