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To be certain of this, I must define fate and its parameters
and how it urges to be nostalgic when hope deserts the mind.
I must speak plainly. I must converge and not distort
this figurative cosmopolitan sense of a seven day reversal
of all that I've tried to combine.
Lux, veritas, old photos pin-pricked upon my walls,
remembrance is my flaw, heliocentric because comfort
will never be found beneath this moon.
By rote and mnemonics, I is the only certainty
to believe in. Compassion and virtue
are wild creatures too spread out
Upon this planet to ever come together
to a mildly satisfactory conclusion.
| this is me right now...relying on self...the only certainty is how i feel about me and how i treat it and others....|
compassion seems a thing of the past...truth a thing of the past...life has gotten different...people are different...
nostalgia may be the only thing that keeps me sane.
thus, i feel this.
|| Posted on 2011-05-03 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ] |