Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Notebook poetry - vol. 3

It's over. The ride slows. Looks like we had our fun.
We payed the price of playing chance with a fully loaded gun.
We're movers, we're shakers, we never built to last
We never thought the future would be so much like the past.
We're leaving, we mean it: into the great unknown.
If you come with us we won't have to leave you here alone.


And I wept so terribly
By the shores of the Galilean sea
I could not describe what made me cry
That such unchecked divinity
Could take on such humanity and rescue me
It blows my mind.


Oh! your persecuted promises,
How I twist them so they're bent on breaking
All the while extracting further vows
Vows that you - by yourself - had no intent of making.

No comments:

Post a Comment