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Post by Ivan Carswell on Nov 14, 2007 21:09:10 GMT -5
Like waiting for rain – or the sun to shine after the tempest has torn every vestige of blurred belief to shreds. Like praying – hands clenched, eyes closed, for relief from spectres dread singing uneasy in tortured ears. There is no comfort in wearing steep ambition bequeathed by years of greed and utter gluttony. You howl at the moon in desperation – avow to repair damage your hands can reach in fine surgery of heart and mind, swear oaths bearing antique truth at ancient runes of your ancestors – but you’ll despair. Like waiting for rain and dying in the drying air, like seeing signs saying there is no truth but that which is and that which is not, too aware which are lies and which are beyond repair. Like wearing the refuse of disunity as a distinction – ‘tho whether the sun will shine again after the tempest won’t matter to you – you won’t be there. © 26 October 2007, I. D. Carswell
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