Wednesday, January 21, 2009

The Deviance of Wings

To fly is to be free – the realization of a God-head, a veritable state of being higher than that of your fellow man; yet still within this act sits a certain calamity. The deviance of wings lies in the wrecking of the dreams, the stagnation of the imagination, goals and aspirations; for the man with the capacity to fly ceases to hang on to hope, and with this dies all anticipation for the future. His incapacity to fantasize and visualize is bred from a familiarity with his gift and an acute distain for those confined to the dirt and to the ground. Those without this gift are forced to blind themselves to their situation and grasp at something greater than themselves. In truth, all eyes remain fixed on the sky when ones arms don’t bequeath them the ability to sleep upon stars. Therefore hope becomes a daily tonic, the opiate for the self described ill. But wondrous is the day when, after all the toil and turmoil, limbs fatefully sprout feathers and penance is rewarded with flight. Much greater is he borne with the passion to do so than he blessed with the ability.

Monday, January 19, 2009

To life and to love

I’m cool on food for thought, but actions speak louder words
Passion, be it not, we were fashioned to make love
The meeting of the hearts is sparked first by the communing of the whole
So with this I bite at your mind so I can feast on your soul
Let intellect satiate lust, wanton it may be
Carnal actions build bonds that set the body free
So with this I toast to freedom
To life and to love
The truest of all things, like dew from above

Frailty Am I

I hate the degenerate, the break from the norm
I curse it with impassioned hatred
Fervent valor exudes from my being as I plead my right
To be me, to be free, in a world controlled by the whims of others
For man is rarely the captain of his own ship
Seldom the sovereign, always the sailor on the boat of others
Thus like cause and effect he falls for all prescribed notions and deeds
Deemed wrong in his eyes but right in the sight of others
Frailty am I, a picture perfect prey for life’s vice grip
Doomed to be inconsequently ripped to shreds
Until I can form two feet to stand on my own