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Banned
Join Date: Jun 2007
Location: Nashville
Gender: Male
Posts: 3,711
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This Fine Done Morning
[Okay, I wrote this at 3 in the morning with no inspiration, so I am quite aware that its horrid, but, I need to do something to toil away my life. At least try to point out the things that pique your interests in it...]
As if with adolescent erotic flare, the sky broke dawn in minutes, rearranging the violet hue into soft blue on the morning canopy. Smog is absent for the day, delightful news for the nature fanatics, the families, the government workers, the street people. Parks will soon be filled with laughter and animals, children working for the weekend taskmaster. Lovers will stroll swaying embraced along the beige or brown walkways, paths unto unreligious transcendence.
Wanly, two smile, lovers such embraced, such transcended. Bleakly forever, a mount themselves. They speak quietly, but happilly, secretly pounding behind their minds' curtains, "God its so great" in unending emotional repetition. Modern times have not yet broken blood born prejudice, however. On this fine morning, transitioned into wake and sleep inside of an hour, the bellfull toll of gunfire, popopopopop scream shudder fellow, keened its call like some unpartitioned creature of bastard genetics.
Danny, dead.
Adam, dead.
Regretful, this loss, blank, lacking meaning, possessing stolid stare of concrete monster. Bounding rushing "must get away must get away" footsteps, no, footbeats, crashed with a rubber blow on the walkway, beige or brown, red red red.
Cycle this, a sorrow's justice. Death pallid has come hungry, Death blush has left sated.
But this scene is done, done again, daily, hourly, such a wasteful display of murderous arrogance. Karma has left, walking by Death's frequent footbeats. Paved now is a clearing for tomorrow.
Comedies erupt with every head that rises, lately, bringing forth terrible tragedies with every pillow shared in cool night. With them, civility degrades until it is a story, told to comfort children covered in errant pajamas.
Its liquid, acid, spume cut from a womb. Fodder for the storytellers, media purpose. And it is still in the present, this delayed cycle. Tomorrow shall break another dawn, another transcendence.
[I don't really like causes because of their own tendencies for self destruction, and I have said some extremist/racist/sexist/whateverist things on the forum, but I do believe that intolerance must not be thought of in the light it is though of now. It cannot be an altar sacrifice, folks. Just reliable death, capable of being stopped but fueled by social ignorance and laze.]
Last edited by Voodoo : 06-19-2007 at 04:05 AM.
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