GOD! Rest his soul...
His wretchedness,
His breathing beauty.
Standing against the tide,
Against the mediocrity.
Bells and bolts split the sky,
Fallen is our hero.
Not dead, not living, only a ghost.
A specter of electricity,
Roaming alleys and catacombs
Looking for beauty and telephones,
Philosopher kings without time.
So you ask angrily,
“Tell me, just what must I believe.
Teach me, what, exactly, must I feel?”
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment