The Sick Children
Tell them nothing of the time to come, now,
Tell them nothing of the ancient bloodlust,
Of the lamb-altar and the noble’s bow,
The profane calling on deities lost.
Do not tell of the haggard sight of cows,
Chewing the cud in their ignorant bliss,
While the knife slices from sacred vow.
Do not tell them they are sick; there’s no point,
A brave new world does teeter on the dawn,
The bane of Arcadian bones and joints,
The steel and silver splayed in perfect time,
The fusing of the rocks with cheering voice,
The sacred bones replaced with rising tides,
The golden door is raised anew in joy!
So do not tell them they are sick.
Do not tell of Hegel’s death, or of worms,
Which gnaw at mortal bodies in the dark,
The rotten eyelids staring to affirm,
The success of the grand revolution.
Oh, one cannot help but pity the squirm,
The weeping desperation of the rot,
As ashes are raised up by prostrate worms.
The monster of steam and steel created,
The agony of frenzied smiling laughs,
The train arrived, cold and bitter waited,
The shape of things that are, in frosted white.
Such agony of movement to be fated,
The horror of the mind’s eye in them all,
“We knew not, we are still vindicated”
They are sick, we are sick, the world is sick,
The manic and the manic pry apart,
The new world order and the muddied stick,
The ignorant or leper- so skies fly,
Past human failing with a wasted flick,
Towards the oblivion of moments,
The endless, only peace of the abyss.
Another poem Watch
- Thread Starter
Last edited by Tufto; 16-05-2013 at 16:03.
- 16-05-2013 15:57
- 17-05-2013 12:27
this is really good... don't know why you were negged
please post some more
- Thread Starter
- 27-05-2013 00:58
Thanks I'll probably put some more stuff on here at some point.
- 27-05-2013 03:05