c. by ruejacobs 10/29/09 12 AM
Let me repeat it.
As futile as it is.
The language you speak is not my own.
You talk of turmoil, oh venomous one,
The way one would describe darkness to the blind
I’ve been following along here in my hymnal
While you, the unaware composer, tapped your wand to keep time
So don’t complain if you can’t dance to it now
It’s all I had to go on
You approach me, Eurytheus
With your grubby misspelled list
It’s a bloody wonder
I haven’t clubbed you to death by now
Get on with it, you tell me?
well:
You say
home
love
mother
hearth
So I say
dread
loneliness
cruelty
want
And that is why we cannot communicate.
My words mean nothing to you.
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