Sticky poetry
Posted: Sunday, September 20, 2009 by Sir Lancealot in Labels: afterlife, atmosphere, death, existentialism, life, poem, poetry, reality, stargazing, time
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Diggin' on diplo,
reachin' for the moon,
carryin' the stars.
How far back was that?
The sun burns with
lust, and anger, and every vice
rolled up into one
big bright beautiful "good" over the world
Yes, we run from hell
But don't you know
life's a racetrack?
And an ice cream cone,
and a box of chocolates.
How about a fuckin' rainbow
while we're at it? We fall
at the dusty, time-worn
feet of time again today,
but since there's no floor
since there's no floor
we'll fall forever, and
it's called entropy, and
it was good.
When it happens
you only feel peace
or shock at the peace
knowing what was never really there.