some parts of memory are never greenpressed into service they cannot retirenor can they hide behind a pleasant screentoo many symbols have come down the wiretoo many songs been belted out by choirit is the season for us to deceivenot just ourselves but those who have to grieveand have no time to beg nor to deploreso much their sorrow that we can't conceiveyet when we started we all knew the scorethere is not time for anger nor for spleennor any sentiments we don't requirethese are not matters to bee heard or seenyou aren't allowed to think nor to aspireabout such things don't bother to enquirejust take a breath and give the foe a heavetell folks to go when it is time to leavejust say enough and not a sentence morethere is no good that any will achieveyet when we started we all knew the scoreour thoughts have all been branded as obsceneand all our books must go into the fireour presence here shall soon have never beenthat is the goal at which we must conspireour signal glory is to be denierof that which honest folk might all believeremove those things so no one can retrieveand once we've finished simply close the doorthose who thought otherwise are just naïveyet when when we started we all knew the scoreprince there's so much that you will not achievebecause our target you just can't perceiveso many good materials we abhorsince all we do is shatter and bereaveyet when we started we all knew the score
Odd ravings, comments, and other wastes of time. Some are in plain prose, yet others are in rhyme.
12 October 2008
ballade of eternal war
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