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Autumn, Ending

Started by Sepia, October 20, 2011, 01:45:42 AM

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Sepia



Here is the mouth were monsters are bred, here comes hell and heaven and all that follows, a throat filled with thick lies and tears that would dive if they could but the ducts are dry and the cold has come, come creeping and shivering through our spines, the feeling of an end but it feels like an end with no beginning in sight, it feels like the warmth has slipped from this world, under feet of mud and bones, bleached by the sun and worn by time and the sun, fading into the dark country past the september sun, here is the cold, here is the snow

look, falling from the sky

a million constellations where none are the same and when we were young we learned that it was us, we learned we were all special snowflakes and we were, we were all so different, different shapes and colours, different tastes and smells hearts minds parents but not yet life, life came later as shelter broke from the storm, the wind howling with the rain beating and it felt like all the warmth in the world slid underground, disappeared into somewhere else, somewhere unreachable but we could feel its proximity like an old love or a mistake

How long should we sing these songs, how long should this lament fall upon our ears, how long should the old bones ache before we pull the plug, before we end it, old men and women in old homes filled with old death, a different world and a different reality than any we ever saw and it seemed so hollow and it was, boring and plain and we feared the day we welcomed ourselves into that house and we feared the boring and the plain into eternity until we were so obsessed with it we became it and as we proved that when you fight the empire, you slowly become it, the positive is also the negative merely reversed and the ideologies are irrelevant, all that persists and defines are the systems working, the routines, the motions already in place and the world grows cold in spring, the colours bleak, the voices hoarse, everything washed out

smelling like chemicals, sepia-like


This world should suffice but we are dying and in our death our grasp grows hungry as the calender is closing in on us, the end is coming and is nigh, hi rorschach. Our fingers are long and bony, the cold illuminates the dark veins, ending in long nails, turning yellow from age and as we dream our final dream we see the world as is, we see it continually, all the time, every moment frozen in time, every mental picture superimposed over the darkest dreams

we dreamed that we failed

that all was for nought
Everyone will always be too late