MOUTH OF
INEXPLICABLE MADNESS
through
the mouth of inexplicable madness
gurgles
forth the hideous monster
a sluggish
strain of weird and petrified faces---
serenades
of human moods, this is my life;
stern
countenance of the geometry
that
outline, explore, and scheme
the
expressions of terror
and
sorrow
and
abjection
of
mankind:
i am
everything of this,
tomorrow
lies in shrouds,
and
space is full of darkness;
i combat
myself --- snarl at myself,
over the
abandonment of virtue
and i doubt
that my inspiration
and
motivation will ever come back;
there
can not be a sum of wisdom
profound
and intrinsic in meaning enough---
and
even if there is, the tireless search
would
never justify the suffering of it.
i mirror
myself
in the
faces of others
as a
measure of reassuring identity
only to
find
the
nighmare is as real as i feared,
and, on
top of that, that it is sacred:
when it is
dark, i no longer suppose the coming of sun ---
the
coming of pitch-blackness
and
the hunger of nocturnal wolves
is
equally probable ---
lest
we forget, lest we forget...
a dark
today does not equal a brighter tomorrow;
it
might very well result
in
an even darker and
unimaginably
more sinister end of things.
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