Friday, July 5, 2013 @11:19 PM
The mind is all-empty, the heart is red hot,
The troubled spirit 'twixt two thoughts is taut.
Oh, my depression! I, rampant, hath wrought that
Which holds me a slave, a peasant who kneels
To chance at the slightest of spice-sugared meals;
That makes a mere child I a gentleman thought.
What daggers have I 'gainst these corpses you've brought
Back from graveyards and hallways and ages thought past, the
Green demons I'd thought had been vanquished at last
But were, 'stead, but banished by battles unfought.
What armies have I to conquer my soul?
Even in triumph, am I to be whole?
You are the answer, th'salvation I sought; yet
You were the silence, the question I got.
//what a game.