[save my work, blog, so I'll dream it out and do no work]
05/27/2009 RIP Kyle Lane one year dead, I've heard nothing else, no indication he's anywhere but gone, his friends have heard only silence after tears
As I can tell, the ground drys with consciousness
no colors, warmth, or calousness.
eh, and so day today winds down to the quick sensation which will be forgotten,
and legs strain the burden,
take the vitamins, check your depression, the doctor prescribes,
but what keeps his words from winding down lickwise?
the day today no memeory, sensation fleeting with all concern.
Legs cramped, sit stand no matter, wander where to my cure?
that we'll meet again inward weeps,
but those moments too are done.
it must be we'll meet again,
shoddy beliefs shown a sham and wishful
thinkers, idiotic louts blind to reality
unfolding, and so i reject.
reject it once and for all
liveout my dying days correct.
but what inside seeks for truth?
is that something sensation only,
but again in asking i'd like to know,
only truth, returns, drowned in century's vanity,
has it a place now? well there,
there it may once again reside
that i wanted proofs and nothing less,
setting self above sensation.
and what story then do i give myself?
opening possibilities, contagion,
it won't limit itself,
but rises and says
restoration, resurrection, we'll know it's true,
meet again wherever but again
and springing I go toward that goal
with no exertion of my own
legs unhinged, were they ever cramped?
they're too light now,
as toiling workers
all the day, in shops, offices, fields,
look to the end of that shift,
to see daughter, son, wife, husband
and know it's near,
even gladly does the task,
no matter what it is
so long as he live in the truth
of seeing them again, again!
So too, I'll stride
repeating, is it true!?
and pray for a transformation,
a resurrection today in me alive.