BEFORE I, POET, WAS

 

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My oblivion won, my sleep wins and my death
Will lose to oblivion too,
So a blank page to leave words
Is more interesting to me than you,
Unless you can be a record
To what I think and do,
A partner to defeat oblivion
Before it smooths out eternally the false and true.

Some, their life materially feeble,
Project their dreams onto gods,
Trading their individuality for authority
And the mindless rituals of their religion,
Converting their smashed selves into happy pawns
Who dream an afterlife with feasts draped on heavenly lawns,
And who can blame them for wanting simple perfection?

But I have huge desires, The New Yorker, the internet and TV.
The simple rabble will never understand
The intricacy of what I say.
They cannot possibly know my character
In their rice boats covered in mist,
Or in their cold tents surrounded by hot sands stretching far away.

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1 Comment

  1. ksalenet said,

    July 18, 2010 at 11:12 pm

    Nice site and useful information

    I wish you continued development

    And I’ll be keen follower of your site wonderful


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