Monday, August 16, 2010

here we are--
another day closer
to some just doom--
the slow dying
aching in every reach for life--
I read the news and sicken
each and every day--
maniacs run wild
and bring grief wherever they go--
and frustrated dreamers applaud them--
idolize them--
wish they had the guts to be like them--
while I wander--a ghost--down streets
no longer familiar to me
though my whole life's been spent
walking on them
and wondering what to do next
and not knowing
but knowing I'd better do something
and having no dealings with any but
these maniacs--
God kills us slowly--(it begins with birth)
and builds to a culmination
of sorrow which consumes loves and hopes
like a glutton clears a banquet table--
oh if God were as merciful as God is vengeful
there might be a fighting chance
to endure this world--
but that's not the plan--
you are here to be destroyed
as Leonard once simply put it--
and the only hope left me is that
I will pass from this skin peacefully
(and may have already jinxed that
by wishing for it)
letting the maniacs kill each other
in the name of their twisted egos--
living black holes consuming life
beyond our scale to save it--
and death a heavy release
because I'd be free of this horror
but not free from knowing
what error I've accrued
that will make a horror of my next
earthly sojourn--
unless there's some good of which I'm unaware--
pie-in-the-sky like a sty in the eye--
aching in every blind grab at life

Content (c) 2008-2010 Philip Milito.

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