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On the Launching Pad and Counting
(Part Two)
Those voices above
are far from friendly
they mock my mediocre talents
the great destroyer crouches within
saps voraciously the juices of hope
why don't you believe?
why don't you have faith?
I bathe myself
in the warm waters of self pity
linger over the false scent
of pompous righteousness
pray to the Father who does not exist
perhaps the ritual
is all that matters
Honor is based upon a fiction survival
is the only truth
arrogance of pride
sits uneasily upon my shoulder pride
in an accident of birth
shame bows
before the eyes that glow
without malice
that loves for its own sake
Something pulls me towards the end
tells me I have been there before
I shall pack my own suitcase
just for a weekend
where there is no return
Angels will not accompany me
on this visit
I shall stumble through the gates
of my Hell
there will be no brass band
just a great silence
a vast darkness of the void
Jack Mashman |
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