A Handle You've Worn

I'll take my collapsible wings somewhere else
I had never seen a rainbow such as this
Mechanical filth in sulfuric acid screaming in metallic bliss.
But these were not the cries of death, yet of shame
a flowering forth of foul nectar, and necessity of such.
We could piss on our shirts for unbreakable rope, and
we would only bore a hole-hulled vessel heading towards destruction.
A last glimpse of hope in a fiery land cast towards death.

"Why grow old?", she said.

"Because the fungus permits it so." I replied.

And we lifted our heavy feet over dew-laden grass,
gulps of orange juice leaving a stout tart on our lips.
For this was much easier than explaining these failed ironies,
Accepting our own lost greatness, fall from space. Court the darkness.
Where in we formerly could escape, but now becomes our tomb.

So now the energy is devoid, we've compromised for dark energy.
A shade heavier than it's translucency would derive.

We are all empty and full at some points.



Dec 17, 2008